


I Don't Deserve a Place Among the People Here

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Series: Once More With Chris [10]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Assassination attempts, Blood, DSO Captain Leon S Kennedy for like a hot second, DSO Director Ingrid Hannigan, Damien of Silver Dagger doesn't exist, Gore, I attempt to fill in some blank spots in canon, Leon S Kennedy is a real proud dad, Leon's POV, M/M, PTSD, Piers Nivans Lives, Piers Nivans replaces D.C., Virginia Incident, Zombies, but also tragic af, canon typical depictions of violence, coda to Resident Evil's Vendetta, culmination of 400k+ of slow burn, explicit sexual content in the second chapter, my interpretation of the inner workings of DSO, non-canon character deaths, slight alcoholism? maybe? depends, so expect some tragic elements yall, what else tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: The bar was empty, Leon sitting alone with the handle of whiskey that was now just a sliver of gold at the bottom. It had only been half full to begin with but that meant that he'd drank nearly half a handle, which was really pushing the limits of his liver considering he was thirty-seven and due for a grave in the next decade. He threw back the shot he'd poured and didn't even grimace at the burn, far beyond numb, not even actually drunk. It was hard to even get drunk after Spain and the Plaga. Still-- nothing like the proper medication to soothe the hurt.There were footsteps approaching. Leon knew them, he knew those steps, but he didn't want to believe--He turned around, a smile of tired disbelief tugging at the corner of his lips as he saw Chris. A smile of tired disbelief that died when he saw Rebecca Chambers just behind him. Why couldn't people just leave him alone?Well, look who it is.The BSAA's golden boyand Dr. High Hopes.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Series: Once More With Chris [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326299
Comments: 47
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SO
> 
> THS
> 
> IS MY ATTEMPT AT VIRGINIA
> 
> all I had to work off was Patricio selling out Leon's unit and it being done with a bomb
> 
> here's my best

“They’re your responsibility, Agent Kennedy.”

That definitely wasn’t what Leon wanted to hear. He just kept his jaw strong and nodded for newly established DSO Director Ingrid Hannigan to see before turning away and blowing out a slow breath that she hopefully wouldn’t notice. 

A team. A whole fucking team. Five people that were putting their lives in Leon’s hands, trusting him to lead them and keep them safe and ensure they made it out alive. Leon didn’t know how Chris did it because Leon had never wanted to do it in the first place. As much as it had worn him down, being a solo operative had been the ideal life for him. He only had to worry about himself and that made the worrying a lot less. Now, Leon had to actually think about the consequences of his actions and the worth of the lives putting off the end of the world. No more suicide missions, it was looking like. Lovely.

He really liked the suicide missions because it meant he could do what it took and not feel bad about it. Now, he knew he’d be haunted by guilt if any of these four men or women would die in the same of saving the world. Why would Hannigan do this to him? Didn’t she realize Leon was just gonna get them all killed and probably ruin the world in the same token because he was too worried about his team to think about saving everyone else? What the hell was Hannigan thinking.

He walked away from Hannigan in the dark, closed off office for the DSO director, opening the door and stopping short at the sight of his new team standing in various stages of a parade rest while waiting for him outside. Leon blinked, then glanced over the faces, connecting pictures from a file with names. 

Sandra Martin, Eli Ramirez, Phillip Novak, Patricio Diaz, and Isabelle Ricci. 

He didn’t know what to make of them.

Sandra, with her dark brown hair tied up in a bun, her eyes serious and jaw set as she stared him down, at least a few inches taller and shoulders much wider. Eli with cornrows and a lip ring that Leon was going to have to insist was taken out, making Leon wonder how he’d even gotten into the building past the metal detector with such an easy injury facading as fashion through his lip. Phillip with a scar across his forehead and two sets of dog tags around his neck. Patricio, small and willy and watching Leon like he was scared of him with a with the sharp glance of a long range specialist and pilot. And Isabella with soft, motherly eyes, blonde hair, and a crooked nose that had been broken at least twice from what Leon could guess.

This was his team.

These were the people Leon was going to get killed. 

He shuddered a breath and told himself that he would put off the inevitable as long as he could.

“I’m Leon S. Kennedy,” he told them all, his voice a little rough at the edges with the reality facing him. “I’ll be your acting commander for—“ How long? Hopefully forever? Hopefully not. “Until this is all over, I guess.” His words earned him a raised brow from Sandra and a snort from Eli that definitely wasn’t standard. Leon knew he already didn’t look the part of a captain, so why should he act the role either?

“I’ve been doing this since 1998,” he told them, figuring he should get the niceties out of the way. “Some might tell you I’ve been in this fight since the day it began, some might tell you I’m part of the reason it’s still going, and some might tell you I don’t even exist. You’re going to subscribe to the last one and affirm that Leon S. Kennedy isn’t real— got it?”

There was a question in the eyes of his team— all except for one. Patricio still looked terrified. Leon’s gaze lingered on the man a little longer, denying himself a small frown of confusion because he didn’t want to give anything away. He went through Patricio’s file again in his head.

Patricio Díaz, née Patricio Delgado, born in Medina-Sidonia of the Cadíz Providence in Spain. His father was Spanish Navy and his mother an engineer on commission. Patricio gained his American citizenship when his parents retired from the their respective military careers and came to the US under contract to train scuba divers for the United States Marines. Patricio had gone Air Force after turning 18, then switched to Army Special Forces, focusing on training foreign militaries. BOW contact hadn’t been listed but his superior ability in just about anything that flew coupled with his hand-to-hand combat capabilities and long-range range scores made him a candidate for DSO regardless. He had a wife and two children that were currently on an extended vacation to see Patricio’s grandparents back in Medina-Sidonia.

Maybe he’d had a rocky past with authority? Except Leon knew for a fact that he didn’t look like anyone Patricio could have come across and been berated by in the military. Leon’s haircut wasn’t to code and he was lithe and unassuming, easy to be overlooked and underestimated. Patricio had no reason to fear him and it was making Leon a little antsy himself.

Whatever.

“As I’m sure you’ve been told, we have an informal operation set up in the Spruce Mountains of West Virginia.”

It wasn’t like the op was a difficult one, more of a test than an actual operation. Leon would this team of five, fly into an abandoned facility outside of DC in Spruce Mountain, West Virginia. Run a few scrimmages, teach these guys the ins and outs of how strange BOW warfare was, and then get back home in time for breakfast. Leon wasn’t expecting any issues because he wasn’t expecting any combat, whatsoever. Spruce Mountain was tourist-friendly. There was no way he’d have a hiccup worse than someone tripping over an untied shoelace. 

His gut was telling him otherwise, but that might’ve just been the rough night he’d had. Chronic nightmares weren’t meant for a thirty-seven year old. 

“We’ll fly in, do a couple rounds though the building, pretend we’re sweeping it while I give you the specific commands that are used in BOW-scenarios, some of which might be unfamiliar to you.” He didn’t like how his team was looking at him in varying degrees of disinterest, disappointment, and fear. Except for Isabella, that was. She was watching him like he was a child that was nervous of crowds. “If I give you some random ass command you don’t think is normal, follow it anyways. As a T, G, C, and Plaga certified combatant, I can assure you that anything you see in the field will be unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before.” He paused, waited for a response, then realized—

“Also, this whole chain of command thing? Really not for me when outside of a combat zone. Speak your minds and I’ll listen. If you think I’m wrong about something, then say it when we’re not in a life or death situation rather than during. I’m not a corporeal punishment kind of guy. Oh, and I really don’t do the last name thing.” He prayed they wouldn’t call him by his last name.

“Really not cut out to be a squad leader, then, huh, Captain?” Eli asked.

And jesus, was he right on the money or what? Leon grimaced and fought the nervous tick of biting his lip or running a hand through his hair. Captain. He was a fucking Captain now. Je-sus. “Call me Leon.”

“With all due respect, I’d prefer Captain Kennedy,” Sandra deadpanned. 

“Can we compromise on Captain Leon?” Hearing his solitary last name left a sour taste in his mouth. This was not going well. “Look, I really don’t give a shit what you call me if it’s gonna be pulling teeth, but you have to understand that layman combat and tactics just doesn’t work in this world and you need to be on the same page with me or else you’ll be ripped to shreds— literally.”

Sometimes it felt like those with combat experience didn’t understand what was involved in the BOW war until it was staring them down and sinking teeth into their flesh. Leon didn’t want to see that happen.

“I know I’m probably not what you expected,” he began with an edge of tiredness to his voice that he hoped these people could sympathize with. “It’s been a long year since China and Tall Oaks. It’s been a long fucking lifetime, if I’m gonna be honest. You can’t look at DSO with the same idea of authority you had in the military because fight or flight is instinctual and nothing brings out that terror in you like the undead no matter how much training and experience you have with a gun.”

He paused again, this time to let his words digest. 

“I know I don’t look like you think I should with all the blacked out files and whispered secrets that go with my name,” he said after that moment that had his team trading glances like they suddenly didn’t understand. “I can promise you that there is no one in the DSO with more experience than me and only two people in this world who actually do have more experience, and only by a few months. So the sooner you get all of those assumptions about what I was going to be out of your heads and just trust me when I say that you need to listen to me, the sooner we can get to making the world a little safer while also coming home to your respective families— got it?”

There was more silence. 

Then Phillip sighed— relaxed his parade rest into something more human— and shook his head, scratching at the scar on his forehead. “Shit.”

“What a rousing speech,” Sandra drawled.

“Could’ve been better,” Eli chimed in. “You should’ve had a lot more logos and pathos and shit in there. Don't they give you people public speaking classes for when you’re undercover?”

Leon relaxed a little with them. “I don’t go undercover,” he said. “I get dropped out of a helicopter with ten bullets and a photograph. Sometimes without the bullets.”

“Pretty sure you’re younger than me,” Phillip was groaning. “Fuck— you remind me of my son.”

Leon made a face while Isabelle smothered a laugh behind her gloved hand. They were all dressed in combat gear and ready to go, so Leon figured he should stop putting off the inevitable. “Your five get geared up and get to the roof,” he said, unable to stop a grin from tugging at his lips as he looked over his team and felt a little less like he was on a Petri dish. “I’m gonna grab my gear and meet you on the copter. Ten minutes, alright? Sixteen-oh-five on the dot.”

“Yessir,” Isabella said as Phillip nodded and Eli nudged Sandra into moving. The huge woman sighed dramatically and clunked away first, her gear giving her absolutely no stealth. Leon was definitely going to have to make new standards for uniform for his team. It wasn’t like all that gear could withstand a bite anyways. They’d be better off wrapping themselves in duct tape. 

The four left, with Patricio trailing behind— and Leon suddenly noticed Patricio wasn’t wearing any gear, unlike the others. He frowned softly at the realization, but didn’t linger on it, figuring Patricio was a step ahead and knew that being quiet was better protection than any bullet proof vest. As Leon turned away to head for his office, he heard Eli fall into a boisterous argument with Phillip over whether or not Battlefield Earth was deserving of the title as worst movie of all time and felt an odd warmth in his chest.

Leon scowled and shoved that warmth down. The second he became complacent was the second these people died. They were his responsibility now. 

Hell of a burden, if anyone asked him. Hell of a weight on his shoulders, just another responsibility that he was going to have to stomach despite his body begging for a break. He trudged down the hallway and pushed into his tiny little office that didn’t have his name on the door for a reason, striding to the gun safe in the corner and swinging the dial, unlocking it and pulling out his gun.

A SIG-Sauer P226 E2, made especially for DSO operatives, also known as the “Sentinel Nine”. A gorgeous thing, silver and black, extended mag compatible, and easily the third best gun he’d ever had. After handing Rot over to Chris back in that facility off the coast of Waiyip, Leon had spent ages pouring through catalogues and visiting Military Depots and asking around for the perfect replacement for the perfection he’d already had. The Sentinel Nine wasn’t as big as Rot, but it wasn’t as small as Matilda. After discovering how perfect the gun was for him— the kickback, the versatility, how easily he could mod it, how reliable it was in combat— the Sig-Sauer P22g E2 had become the standard firearm for DSO. Now Sherry had one on her hip, and so would Leon’s team.

Leon’s Sig was different, though. It had a name etched into the side, a few small letters that he’d made himself with a combat knife in the middle of a dusty operation in the Great Sand Dunes with no water and the moon absent. 

Peach. It would’ve been named Peachy if he hadn’t thought better of it, hadn't thought of holding his gun to Chris’s head and pulling an empty trigger. But Peach was good enough, a word that was specific enough to mean something, and also—

Well, Jake. Leon’s new peach-fuzz of a sometimes roommate, a young man that Leon was calling family. A young man who had introduced Leon to this gun in the first place, had listened to him complain about finding a worthy replacement and slid this very gun across the table to him, saying he had plenty of other weapons and that this one was reliable enough to not get Leon killed. And Leon had kept that gun because Jake giving him _anything_ was huge and Leon knew he knew what he was talking about. So now Leon had Peach on his hip, reliable and gorgeous and meaningful. 

Leon grabbed the belt next and fastened it around his waist, sliding the gun into the hold on the side and nodding to himself. 

It was just a scrimmage, nothing real. Peach would be loaded with blanks and his men were going to be fine. As long as he got this little test run out of the way and measured what his team was worth, he’d be in the clear and allowed his first day off since Lanshiang— which, to this day, would be exactly a year ago on the dot.

Hell of a year, too.

Hell of a year.

The election wasn’t for another two years, so Leon could guess that the VP wasn’t concerned with reelection if the man wanted to run at all. He probably wouldn’t be brought back in considering the snafu that had been Simmons. The acting Director of National Security suddenly being outed as a psychopath and leader of an Illuminati cult worthy of cinema wasn’t exactly good policy. It wasn’t like it was his fault— anyone’s fault, really— but Leon was pretty sure the polls were poor regardless of the VP’s efforts.

And it wasn’t like Leon hadn’t put in a little effort of his own. Again, he hadn’t had a day off since China. Over 365 days without a single break would likely be criminal if Leon were a normal employee with normal demands of his work in a normal world. Sadly, he was in a world where zombies existed and there were about two people in the entire United States of America that were authorized to take on said zombies. 

And technically, Sherry wasn’t cleared for T- and G-Virus incidents, nor the Plaga. She was C-certified, which was pretty damn useful when it came to cleaning up the Simmons-specific shitfest that was the dark corners of this country, but not really good if DSO was ever requested overseas, which was beginning to happen a little more as of late. 

With Adam’s intentions grandfathered into policy at the VP’s steadfast insistence, a lot of old Umbrella labs were slowly being brought out of the rust, empty for the most part, sometimes not. Leon had lately just been spending night after night underground, wiping them clean, waiting for this task force to be selected and trained by him so he could take a fucking vacation. The VP was working on allowing a BSAA branch to set its roots in DC to not only foster better relations with allies in the BOW crisis, but to also give the American populace a little more peace of mind in knowing their lives weren’t in the hands of a single, very tired man. Not that they even knew who Leon was or what he did. It really was a thankless job.

All of that— coupled with the endless hearings that finally decided Leon wasn’t guilty of high treason, added onto being fielded endlessly for how Helena had disappeared and if Leon still wasn’t some sort of traitor for his relation with Ada, and then the way Jake just randomly showed up at Leon’s place in various states of injury— was why Leon was really, really looking forward to a break. 

Once he handled this scrimmage, he had two weeks off. He had no idea what he was going to do with those two weeks off and it felt great. Sherry had been nagging him to hang photos on his walls and check up on Piers Nivans and his monumental progress outside of BSAA documentation, but Leon really didn’t think he was up to that. Not only did hanging photos sound like a fucking bore, but seeing Piers would take him a little too close to Chris, and Leon just—

He wasn’t ready. Not Leon, Leon was always ready, but Chris wasn’t. Chris had promised he’d reach out and Chris was the kind of man to stick to his promises. So Leon really wasn’t eager to run into Chris in any capacity if he couldn’t be candid and personal and as _horribly in love_ as he was. He’d rather not see Chris and have to go through the effort of hiding himself. When he finally saw Chris again, Leon wanted it to be just them and their touch and their words and nothing else.

Oh, to have a dream come true.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t checking up, either. Leon knew Chris was making good progress alongside Piers. Piers was back in the field thanks to the robotic prosthetic Leon had helped perfect and Chris was seeing his sister on the regular, going through memories and reporting back to the BSAA issued therapist about what was becoming clear. So it wasn’t like Leon didn’t care or something, he just didn’t—

Leon didn’t want to torture himself with what he couldn’t have. Sherry had been getting on his case about being nicer to himself. Drink less, sleep more, look in the mirror and not curl his lip in disgust at what he saw. It was an uphill battle, to say the least, and the nightmares still plagued him, but at least he was trying, right? Sherry had even helped him dye his hair to a dark brown to differentiate his reflection by the memory of his father as Leon got older and started to look more and more like the bastard. At least he was putting up boundaries. At least—

At least Leon wasn’t looking forward to dying one day anymore.

And really— for once— Leon was looking forward to having two weeks off. Even if he didn’t know what he’d do with them, to have time to rest and unwind was going to be a godsend, and something he sorely needed. If Leon had been offered time off a year ago, he would’ve spat in whoever’s unlucky face that was. Time off meant time spent remembering every terrible little thing he could never escape. But now, suddenly, time off meant just— existing. And looking forward to things. And seeing if maybe he could convince Jake to actually stay for a few days and let Leon teach him how to cook and go on a road trip with Sherry or just get his place ready for whenever Chris decided it was time.

Suddenly, Leon really wanted to have time off just so he could be a little bit closer to a bright future he never thought he’d have. He couldn’t say all the suffering had been worth it, but he could say it mattered a little less when he thought of what he had. And that was the point of it, right? Being happy. That was the point.

So there Leon was, looking forward to his vacation and maybe even what would come after that. It was almost July, he could find some gorgeous hikes, he could fire up his grill on the porch and make hotdogs, he could stay up late and catch Jake sneaking in, he could do _anything_ and he could enjoy it.

He would enjoy it.

Chris would want him to enjoy it.

Leon zipped up his jacket, the leather softened now for the few months he’d been wearing it. A Christmas present from Sherry, warm and familiar by now, and the white stripes down his arms helped make him more aware of the reach of his arms and the end results of quick movements in close-combat. His fingerless gloves only came off when he bathed at this point, because sleeping in them was a new norm after he’d been woken in the middle of the night and whisked away for an emergency, only to be caught in the middle of a fight without gloves to keep his clammy palms from slipping up. Leon’s life revolved around constant combat. He couldn’t help but pray that having Chris back, someday, would change all of that for the better.

But the number one thing was that Leon couldn’t afford to get attached because this wasn’t the life of attachment. 

Leon couldn’t help it— it felt so _different_ , having a team locked and loaded but only heading into a scrimmage. Leon was a solo operative, he didn’t have teams, but if this went well then that was going to change. _This_ would be his team. These would be his people. He didn’t— He had no idea how to handle that. He wished he could reach out to Chris and asked how he managed being a captain, but god, he couldn’t.

DSO Captain Leon S. Kennedy. Leon didn’t know if he liked the sound of that but he didn’t have a choice. Leon was scared he wasn’t ready for this— that he really wasn’t made to lead. He was scared he would get these people killed.

Maybe he would some day. Maybe someday soon. But not today. Not on a scrimmage. Leon just needed to take a deep breath and remind himself that his gun was loaded with empties for a reason. There was nothing down in the mountains of West Virginia. He and his team were going to be fine. There was nothing— nothing at all— to be afraid of.

Leon heaved a sigh and nodded to himself, cinched his belt a little tighter and turned for the office door. These people were his now— they were putting their lives in his hands. He wasn’t going to let them down. 

At least not over a scrimmage, for fuck’s sake.

Leon marched through the halls of DSO with a little less gusto than he’d normally scrounge up, but that was just him looking forward to putting his feet up and sleeping for a straight twenty-four hours after this. He strode up to the flights of stairs that opened to the landing platform and paused at the top of the steps with the door held open by his flat palm, watching the team load up— watching _his team_ load up.

They worked well around each other, and Leon could tell Eli and Sandra had some sort of history with how Eli wouldn’t shut up and yet Sandra hadn’t dropped him to the concrete. Phillip had an ammo bag slung over his shoulder, which was stupid considering they didn’t need ammo when they were firing blanks, but Leon couldn’t begrudge the man for being prepared. Isabelle was watching Leon, waiting for him, jogging towards him with a clipboard. Leon distantly remembered Isabelle was the medic and Chaplain for his team. 

“So I have all of the gear loaded, but I did want you opinion on packing for the actual excursion,” she said, all business with a pen in her hand as she showed Leon a list as long as his hand. “Since we won’t be dealing with regular combat in general, then I’m assuming pack standards are very different. If we’re looking to go light and quiet at all times for all members of the team, then I’d like to suggest some tweaks made to the standard load out for medical supplies, especially considering the size a proper ace bandage takes up despite its ability to be compressed. Blood thinners and stoppers will always be a little more difficult and I really wouldn’t want to risk carrying anything with a needle considering how mobile we will be and how little padding we will be wearing that could act as a cushion between said needles and sensitive bits. What do you think?”

Leon stared owlishly as she looked to him expectantly. “I’m gonna be honest,” he said. “I’ve never gone in with anything but a gun and ammo. Any medical supplies is scrounged on the job.”

Isabelle looked vaguely disappointed, but not necessarily in him. “As a team, I’ll need my resources to be a bit more reliable. Why don’t you and I meet after your leave and go over how things can be stowed away with more ease and what's truly necessary and what isn’t? I imagine that wounds that are received from assailants on these ops are pretty much fatal no matter where they land, but environmental damage can’t be ignored and I don’t want someone bleeding out of an artery just because they turned a corner wrong.”

“Fair point,” was all Leon could really say.

“While she’s at that, lemme pick your brain,” Phillip called out as he dumped the ammo bag on the bed of the helicopter. “As your residential demolitions junkie, I’m really gonna have to argue against these peashooters we’re using.”

“Stereotype the scars much?” Eli asked, grinning like a loon and ribbing the air with his elbow. Phillip gave him a look that was downright empty and Eli held his hands up in immediate surrender. “Alright— too dead inside for jokes. I’ll remember that.” Leon didn’t know what the hell this dynamic could even be called but he was definitely not ready to lead a team if this was what he was going to have to handle.

“It would help if your jokes were funny,” Sandra said.

“I’m about to be as dead as Phillip here if you’re gonna stab me in the back like that again, Dee,” Eli replied.

Yeah, Leon was not ready.

It was weird— it was too fucking weird. The camaraderie was foreign and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. Leon felt flighty, his fingers shaking just a little, his mind frazzled and unable to wrap around what was going to become his new normal. The weight of responsibility and the fear for the lives of these people was at odds with the happiness and easy-going nature he was witnessing from them. Leon needed to get his shit together and detach before he got _himself_ killed.

“Look, I—”

Leon cut himself off as he noticed something. Where was Patricio? He hesitated, glancing around, the team going quiet and observing him with a mixture of wariness and impatience. Leon took a step back, glancing around the helicopter for some glimpse of their pilot. He’d said they were gonna leave, right? Don’t tell Leon his pilot was going to be chronically late. Leon inwardly winced, knowing he was not giving anyone a good first impression. 

“Anyone seen Patricio?”

At his question, the reactions to Leon’s sudden silence was washed away for confusion and small realizations that yes, Patricio was missing. “Odd,” Phillip said, brow furrowing. “Saw him here only a few minutes ago.”

“Maybe he had to shit,” Sandra deadpanned.

“And make us all late for our first operation, however unofficial?” Eli shrugged. “Dunno— seems a little weird to me.”

“Is this normal for him?” Leon asked.

“How the hell should we know?” Phillip replied. “None of us have ever met him before.”

Wait— that couldn’t be right.

Sandra Martin, close quarters combat specialist with a background in mechanical engineering and ex-Army SF. Eli Ramirez, comms and tactics along with small arms expertise, ex-Army SF. Phillip Novak, munitions and explosives expert, ex-Army SF. Isabelle Ricci, medic and Chaplain, small arms expertise, ex-Army SF. 

Patricio Díaz, pilot and long-range expert along with above-average proficiency in most other areas, ex-Army SF.

Special Forces was not a large force by any means. At least one of these four should have met Patricio, especially as pilots weren’t the most represented group within SF, meaning Patricio would’ve been loaned out across various battalions. There was no way in fucking hell none of these people could’ve have failed to meet Patricio at least once.

Very suddenly, Leon had a _bad_ feeling.

“I’m gonna go find him,” he told the team as he started to walk away again, his thoughts running a mile a minute and not adding up. “Just get this thing ready to lift off— once I have Patricio, we’re gone.”

“He already ran through all the system checks,” Isabelle assured Leon. “We saw him even double checking the engine. It’s just a little strange that he ran off.”

“Squirrelly thing,” Phillip scoffed. “Let’s hope he doesn’t up and leave us behind when things get rough.”

Patricio was ex-Amy SF with at least a decade of flying into combat under his belt and in his file, he should not be running, he should not be squirrelly, he _should not be a stranger to these people._ Leon just gave a numb nod to his words as his heart began to race. Something was wrong, something was really fucking wrong, and he needed to find out what it was before it reared its ugly head and got him killed. He distantly wondered if Hannigan had had the time to field this team herself or if they were acting on someone’s good word. Oh god, what if this roster was a remnant from Simmons’ time as National Security Advisor? What if Patricio was in trouble?

Oh fuck, what if Patricio was hurt?

Leon didn’t know how he’d come to this conclusion, but everything had been too “good” relatively speaking these past couple months, so the panic that cinched itself around his heart was justified as he darted back into DSO HQ and began to search, peering past closed doorways and down halls, frantically moving through the facility to try and find the pilot— _his_ pilot. If Patricio was already gone, Leon would never be trusted with any form of human life ever again. If he couldn’t keep even a solitary man safe after only an hour of responsibility, Leon would never be worth that measure of trust again.

If Leon couldn’t find Patricio and _help_ him, then Leon was as good as useless. Condemned to solo ops for the rest of his life, condemned to being alone, just outright condemned. Finding Patricio was the only thing he could think about to stave off the impending doom. Finding Patricio was all he cared about in that single moment of existence.

Then Leon found Patricio— and the relief was so short lived it was startling.

Because the second Patricio noticed Leon had found him, the twitchy man shoving things into a bag, files clasped in sweaty fingers, papers slipping to the floor while a shredder to Patricio’s left was guiltily buzzing away, the second Patricio looked over his shoulder at the sound of Leon throwing open the door to _DSO Director Hannigan’s office_ , Patricio froze like a deer in the headlights, a full body tremble running from his head to his toes.

Leon reared back, jerking his chin to the side, processing what he was seeing slowly. Of the papers on the floors, half the information was blacked out with thick marker, but some of it was still recognizable. The twisted image of a Plaga infected corpse was printed cleanly on one slip of paper. On another was an image of a long dead man— of Luis Sera, smiling for the camera in a lab coat, the smile not reaching brow eyes that Leon remembered being filled with warmth and life. Leon shook himself. He didn’t understand what this was. “Patricio?”

“W-w-what are you doing here?!” Patricio almost shrieking, demanding like Leon was the one breaking the rules. “Y-you’re supposed to be up on the helicopter pad like the others! They sent me for _you,_ you’re not supposed to be down here!”

Then Leon heard a slow, measured beep, and saw, on Hannigan’s desk, along with Patricio’s discarded firearm and another go-bag— a handheld switch. A handheld detonator. The red cap was flicked up and the button was already pushed in. On the grip there were numbers counting down, a timer. 

Leon processed that detail a lot less slowly.

He sprinted from the doorway before he could think twice, knowing he was letting a possible-criminal have the perfect opportunity to escape and honestly not giving a solitary fuck. Stealth was suddenly a lost concept to him, his boots slamming on the linoleum floor as Leon ran for the roof as fast as his feet could carry him. His lungs burned with the strain, his mind foggy with the lack of oxygen, his breath in short, sharp gasps as he fought with his own physical ability to get there in time and _save_ his team. Leon took the steps three-by-three, slamming open the metal door at the top and bursting onto the landing pad.

At the other end of the roof, his team was finishing packing the helicopter. Sandra and Eli were climbing into the holding bay, Eli’s mouth moving a mile a minute. Phillip was already sat in the co-pilot seat, buckled in and running through a system check with the tower closer to Quantico. 

Hearing the door smacking the concrete wall hard enough to chip, Isabella turned to where Leon had just emerged. Leon could barely make out her expression, but he saw her lift her hand in a wave.

Time stopped.

Then Isabella was gone in a flash of light and fire, a wave of heat slamming into Leon and knocking him onto his back. He hit the ground hard, skull knocking on the floor, ears ringing instantly as he gasped, the air sucked from around him for a split second that left Leon reeling. His body _ached_ and he rolled onto his side, clutching an arm around his ribs that suddenly didn’t feel right. The explosion was still rattling in his skull and his limbs tingled like he’d been electrocuted. 

With effort, he lifted his head and looked back to the helicopter— or what was left of it.

The back of the helicopter was gone— completely and utterly gone. Sandra and Eli were nowhere to be seen, and Leon could only assume they were twisted with the wreckage that surrounded the epicenter of the explosion. The cockpit was the most intact part of the helicopter, but the windows were shattered and the cockpit itself was burning, flames licking the air. From the shattered windows laid a body— Phillip dead on the ground. Leon knew he was dead because the way his head was crooked in and under his neck, snapped, was not something anyone could walk away from.

There was a wet sputtering in front of him. Leon’s eyes snapped down to Isabella, who was strew across the concrete in front of him, one of the helicopter propellers slicing her body in half. Her eyes were locked on him as her mouth moved wordlessly, blood pouring from her lips. Leon watched her arm— the one that had been raised in a greeting— reach for him— and then go limp.

Isabelle’s eyes went dead.

Leon was rooted to his spot, his head throbbing and heartbeat pulsing in his ears as the ringing died to be replaced by the sound of fire crackling. Isabelle’s outstretched hand was only inches from him. He stared at it, the gloved fingers that would soon be stiff with rigor mortis, the blood that was pooling from Isabelle’s split torso staining the ground and creeping for Leon’s boots. He stared into her dead, glassy eyes and couldn’t breathe.

Then, far too late, Leon reached out for that cold, dead hand. He wrapped his palm around Isabelle’s and held on tight. Sirens approached from the distance and there was Hannigan shouting his name from the stairwell, but he didn’t move. He simply held Isabelle’s hand and prayed the world would just stop.

. . .

_When I was a kid..._

_...I used to think about  
the kind of man I'd grow up to be._

_I never thought  
my life would turn out this way._

. . .

Leon’s footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor, slower, methodical as each step brought him closer and closer to the DSO’s underground morgue. His right ear was still ringing and his hands hadn’t stopped shaking. The ghost of Isabelle’s fingertips lingered in his palm like the brush of death across his neck, hands gripping tight with the intent to kill, cold leeching through rags for clothes. His body was bruised and his head was throbbing. The morgue was right in front of him, the doors opened and waiting.

Leon stepped into the freezing room and looked over the body bags— four of them in total. They were still, one of them bloodstained, slightly unzipped, darkness inside. He looked at it too closely for far too long, knowing he only had to pull back the fabric to find that hand and hold it once more, just one last time. 

There was a growl.

Leon yanked his gaze from the empty black to see the thrashing of the body bag in the far left, Phillip growling and kicking to be free. The zipper protested and there was the snip of fabric being torn, the body bag unable to contain the rage of the undead.

Leon yanked up Jake’s gun without a thought and slammed three shots into Phillip’s writhing corpse, his gaze hard and colder than the morgue itself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so first off adding another chapter cause 1) I like 3 uwu and 2) vendetta is too interesting to cut short it'll be three chapters it's fine I promise it's fine 
> 
> also like I think there was a. misunderstanding with the first chap. some of y'all might be new, which is totally cool, just please know that Leon's entire team being killed **is canon.** I didn't do that for funsies, it's a canon element that is used to have Leon being where he is in Colorado for chris to find him along with giving them Patricio (for LI and Arias info) and for Leon to actually care about getting mixed up in the main plot of vendetta. and honestly? I changed canon a lil to be _nicer._ canon has Leon killing Metro SWAT, which means he would 100% know the team personally and be much more involved in their safety than the fictional team I just made up. so really I went easier on Leon than canon. _so don't come at me for canon that you're not knowledgeable of_. pls thx bye <3

Leon’s phone was in his pocket, still buzzing now and again, likely with messages from Director Hannigan concerning the certain someone who had contacted DSO to seek Leon out. Leon was basically ignoring her at this point, considering she’d given BSAA his location even though Leon was very explicitly and officially _on vacation._ His first fucking vacation in a year, his first set of consecutive days off since god knew when, his first actual fucking _break_ since he could remember, and she’d given them his location.

It had already been mostly ruined with the sour taste in his mouth that was his dead team that had been his team for all of five-fucking-minutes. His vacation was going to hell in a hand basket now that he knew he was about to be interrupted.

To be fair, Leon was grateful for the warning Hannigan had given him, even if it had been coupled with a profuse apology and a sly inclusion of how she was breaking the rules to warn him at all. Was he supposed to be grateful to her? She’d been the one to give away his _confidential_ location to an international organization that was still working on national policy permissions. BSAA technically wasn’t even allowed to set foot in the USA, yet here Leon was, sitting in an empty dining room in an empty hotel in empty Colorado, waiting for the BSAA to break the law because the BSAA did whatever the hell it wanted. 

Pueblo, Colorado, to be exact. Not anywhere near the mountains and not anywhere near the larger cities— just flat land and a few spattered trees, perfect and open and isolated. Safe.

Leon just really wanted to feel safe.

He threw back a shot of whiskey and twisted his chin at the taste, hating the burn but knowing he needed it. There was the ghost of a palm in his hand that Leon desperately needed to bury, especially before whoever was coming for him showed up. He wondered who it could be. Jill Valentine in all her blonde glory? Leon heard she’d kept the hair dye Wesker had given her years ago. Maybe Leon would finally get to see it in person. 

Or maybe he’d get John. Probably not. John was still in Africa, working alongside Chris’s old partner, Sheva Alomar. Apparently they were weeding out the last little bit of Umbrella’s hold on the natives and nature. Revival of flora and fauna was reportedly of interest within the BSAA— Leon wondered if they were trying to study the long term effects of the Plaga on the planet beyond an infection breakout. If the virus that took the shape of plants— in Leon’s experience— could actually alter the world as they knew it. 

In Leon’s opinion, each virus should have a god damn dedicated body farm. Just infected corpses and animals and plants left to rot in a controlled environment to study what would happen and how fucked they’d be in the long term. But that was neither here nor there.

Maybe someone else would show up. Maybe Director Trapp himself, in his tall, British glory, or whatever he was. Leon had never been able to pinpoint the accent, and he didn’t really feel like talking to the guy enough to narrow it down anymore. Ever since Trapp and company had fucked Leon six ways from Sunday, Trapp would always talk to Leon with regret in ever word. It felt too much like pity. It made Leon’s insides roil with nausea or something similar. 

He really hoped it wasn’t Trapp.

Leon knew who he hoped it would be. He simultaneously hoped it wouldn’t. God knew that man was the one person Leon didn’t want to see him right now, like this. Out of everyone Leon knew, BSAA or not, Sherry would be his first choice, but she was on an op guarding some TerraSave volunteers, one of whom was Claire. Leon wouldn’t want to interrupt their time together, all things considered, but part of Leon was jealous. He kinda hated that part of himself.

It’d be nice to see Jake too, but all Jake would do was grouse and drink Leon’s alcohol and tell him to get it together, that people died, that the world was ugly and Leon should just give up if he was gonna wallow like this. Jake was doing pretty good with Leon these days, but god knew the man’s empathy didn’t extend much further than Sherry and Leon’s parents and Piers. Leon almost felt like Jake had room for one people in his heart at one time and he just traded out places as needed, letting that one thing occupy when needed. Leon was also jealous of that.

Still— just about anyone would be better than who he treacherously wished it would be.

“Sir.”

Leon looked up and saw the waitress with her hair tied back watching him with something like reproach. “The kitchen is open now— would you like something to eat with that?”

Leon had gone through half a handle of whiskey and it was ten AM. Maybe he should be grateful Sherry wasn’t here— at least she wouldn’t see him like this too.

“I’m good,” Leon told her. “Think you could bring me another?”

The waitress gave him a look that was all scornful judgement and definitely not Leon’s problem. She walked away, probably wondering what the hell his deal was. It wasn’t like Leon knew what his own deal was half the time so she could shut up about it. Leon poured himself another shot, clutching the glass in his hand, staring into the amber liquid and trying to find some sort of peace in his head. Everything was just a ringing in his ears, and heat. Everything was just failure.

Maybe— maybe the BSAA would have answers for him. Patricio was international, Leon knew that for a fact now, though god knew how he’d gotten into DSO in the first place. Friends in high places was the only reasonable explanation. Maybe the BSAA knew a thing or two that could give Leon some direction. Because once his vacation was up? Leon was on the hunt. He was going to find Patricio and cut him open to dig out answers, nice and slow and _painful._ Leon didn’t do torture, necessarily, but four innocent people had died and Leon’s entire year of psychological recovery had been shot to shit. He felt like he was owed an hour or two to let loose.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t need those answers either. Why had Patricio been sent after Leon, of all people? Leon was a ghost operative, there shouldn’t have been many trails leading back to him, specifically, for whatever change he’d made in the world. Whoever was after Leon had to have seen his face, specifically, and hunted him down relentlessly. Now to know Leon’s team had paid the price—

Who wanted Leon dead that much?

BSAA would know— whoever they were sending would owe him some answers for this interruption. Fuck whatever they wanted— and what the hell did they want?— Leon was going to get something out of them no matter what. 

He threw back the shot and finally felt a little better. This was why Leon never took a vacation. Having no purpose left him useless and depressed. Having direction gave him something to exhaust himself for. Gave him something to push the rest of everything awful down into the darkness for.

He poured another shot and nodded to himself as he heard something _big_ land in the cross-country skiing area just west of his resort. Leon had remembered looking at that empty stretch of land and thinking to himself how great of a drop zone it would be. It looked like his vacation was five minutes from being fucked. 

Why wasn’t he surprised, really.

He slouched a little more, kept his gaze on the table in front of him, and waited. The anticipation was making his chest tight, but Leon ignored it in favor of keeping his head on straight. So long as he was calm and collected, he’d worm the conversation in his direction, get the info he needed, and then get BSAA to fuck off. After what felt like ages, Leon heard the muffled heavy footsteps of BSAA issued combat boots trudging in his direction, boots that—

Leon suddenly went _rigid._

Oh fuck no.

No— no, no, no no no, this was not fucking happening.

_He knew those steps._

The dread sank in his gut and his hands became clammy in his gloves, anxiety mixing with fear and making him light headed in a way the alcohol hadn’t managed in months. Leon jerked his chin to the side, trying to think straight.

Alright, so, it was Chris. Chris was here. Chris Redfield, in the flesh, since a year. It was Chris. No big deal, right?

_Bad news, huge fucking deal._

Leon had half a mind to hide the alcohol, but what good would it do? Chris was here, he was _here_ , was today the day? Had Chris finally decided to declare himself of sound mind? Was the waiting finally over? If today was the day, then Chris would taste the alcohol on Leon—

A full body shudder ran through Leon and he ran a hand down his face. This was _not_ something he was mentally prepared for. But by god, he’d waited long enough, right? Maybe the timing literally could not be worse, but he would be stupid to look a gifted horse in the mouth. If Chris was ready and he was seeking Leon out for that very reason, seeking Leon out to rekindle what they’d once had and _finally_ be _something_ , then Leon wasn’t going to turn him away.

Now that Leon had started to accept it, something like excitement simmered in his chest. He stared at the amber liquid in his glass and felt a shiver of a smile tug at his lips. Was this really happen? After so long? Was Chris really ready for him? Fuck.

_Fuck._

The footsteps were closer now and Leon couldn’t wait. Maybe the second set was Piers for emotional support? A little light, but did it matter? It was happening, it was _finally_ happening. Leon was almost giddy now, his hands shaking with pure elation, his mind wrecked by the sudden realization of what was going to change and how long he’d waited and all the possibilities in front of him. It felt cheap to be happy after Virginia, but so fucking what? Leon was tired of suffering, he was tired of being alone, he was tired—

Chris’s footsteps— were so god damn loud. Leon smiled and shook his head, overcome with fondness. “Careful you don’t scare the locals,” he called out softly as he _felt_ Chris enter the room, heard the creak of wood and the disruption of air, heard Chris’s steady cadence of breath. “Your stealth’s for shit.”

There was a pause. Leon held his breath. Then Chris spoke.

“It’s a little early to be that deep in the bottle, Leon.”

Leon felt his heart race as he turned in his seat with that smile and saw—

The smile died.

Chris was there. But so was Rebecca Chambers, her bright eyes watching Leon like he was a stain on her favorite shirt, her gaze severe and judgmental. She was in a bullet proof vest, too, just like Chris was in full combat gear, meaning Chris and Rebecca were here for _work_ and Leon was on vacation. And Chris wasn’t even—

Chris was staring at Leon with a hard set jaw that reminded Leon a lot of disappointment. And wasn’t that just a kick in the teeth?

“Well, look who it is,” Leon drawled, using sarcasm to hide the pain that was threatening to block his throat. “The BSAA’s golden boy and Doctor High Hopes!” He turned away so Chris wouldn’t see the look in his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I got a job.”

Leon wasn’t a mercenary— word of a job never excited him.

Chris rounded the table Leon was sitting at, his thundering footsteps making the whiskey in Leon’s glass ripple. Chris sat down cross from him. It was too far away. Leon squeezed his glass and denied himself the relief of breaking their gazes as Chris’s warm eyes bored into him. “We need your help,” Chris said.

“I’m on vacation,” Leon replied, staring him down.

“Let’s talk about Los Iluminados,” Chris barreled on, making Leon flinch. “Remember the type of BOWs they were using?”

… _What?_

Leon sat back in his chair, expression aghast and pained, feeling like he’d been slapped. “Are you serious?” he asked, emotion strangling his throat. “Do I remember— Chris, _do you_ remember?” Did he remember the machine that had made Leon writhe in agony, the times where Leon lost himself and nearly killed Chris, the red eyes that haunted Leon in his peripheral reflections? Did he remember Krauser? Did Chris remember any of it at all? “Do you remember it, Chris? How I was infected? How I nearly killed you? How the Plaga inside me made me scream?”

Leon had expected Chris to get angrier. He was stunned when he saw pain that matched his own flit through Chris’s eyes.

“We’re here on official business,” Rebecca said, startling both Leon and Chris’ attentions apart to look to her. “I’m sorry to interrupt your vacation, Leon, but we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah?” Leon shook his head, glancing down at the nearly empty bottle to his left. Hadn’t he already ordered another? “It’s always serious. When is it never _not_ serious? Point is, I’m on official vacation and you had no right to come here to bother me about _Los Iluminados_ when you’ve got someone who knows just as much as me sitting next to you. Hell— if it’s concerning the Plaga? Chris probably knows more.”

He threw back his shot for emphasis, not missing the way Chris’s eyes tracked the movement and how silent he was remaining.

“It’s not the Plaga that we’re after,” Rebecca said. “We have reason to believe Los Iluminados is up to something.”

“How the hell could they be?” Leon demanded. “They got blown to pieces. Their whole operation was decimated.”

“By Ada,” Chris added quietly. “Ada Wong planted the bombs.”

Leon blinked at Chris, stunned to hear he was remembering _Ada_ of all things. Baby steps, right? God, Leon couldn’t stop looking at him. 

Had Chris grown again? Seriously? Like, grown in all angles. He seemed taller than Leon remembered, wider too. He wasn’t wearing as much combat gear as he’d been in China, so that bulk was all one hundred percent Chris. Leon felt a faint hint of arousal as he looked the man over, which was really just the most unwelcome sensation ever. Chris had come barreling in here, demanding to know about one of the most traumatic experiences of Leon’s life like he was asking about whether Leon took his coffee black or with cream. Definitely wasn’t the time to be turned on by Chris somehow becoming even _bigger._

Still— Leon’s gaze dragged over Chris’s biceps and noted they were as large as Leon’s head. It was probably the whiskey talking, but Leon inwardly welcomed that curl of arousal because it reminded him of subjectively “better” days. Said bicep jumped and Leon’s mouth went suddenly dry. 

Definitely the whiskey.

“Whatever you want from me is something you could get from _him_ just as easily,” Leon said defensively to cover up his own bullshit with a cut of his eyes to Chris. “He’s the parasite expert, not me. He knows the Plaga and he knows Los Iluminados as well as I do. He’s dealt with them just as much as I have.”

“I don’t know if I’d agree with that,” Chris mumbled. Both Rebecca and Leon’s eyes shot to him, surprise plain on their faces. He grimaced and and shook his head. “Leon, the point is we have a problem on our hands and we think you’re the guy who can help us. There’s a new virus spreading through the US, and since BSAA can’t necessarily operate without the government’s seal of approval, having you there would really speed things along. People are already dying. This shit’s spreading thick and fast.”

“All the researchers and staff at my university were infected,” Rebecca added, leaning in to look beseechingly to Leon. “We had already found a successful vaccine for the virus when the attack hit. It was planned, Leon, this is being organized with extreme efficiency and locality.” Her huge eyes reminded Leon of Sherry. “If you don’t help us, more people are going to die. We have already seen random outbreaks of small infection sizes that are being handled to the best of the BSAA’s ability, but with the complications of jurisdiction and the lack of organization for the BSAA North America Branch when crossing the border, there’s no way we can actually investigate without you. And who knows how big the next incident will be.”

Leon was going to break something. “This again?” Rebecca and Chris traded confused glances as Leon sat back, shaking his head, thumbing the perspiration on his glass. “It’s like I’m stuck in a god damn loop.” Over and over, just more people falling victim to these assholes with god complexes, and Leon being told he was the only thing that stood between innocent lives and rotting graves. When would these people learn Leon wasn’t the savior they made him out to be? When would they learn he was just as flawed and as much of a failure as the next corpse?

“What?” Chris asked with worry.

“What’re you talking about?” Rebecca asked with frustration.

Of course they didn’t know.

“You know that bomb that went off in DC?” he asked, only half rhetoric. Who knew what the BSAA knew considering communication— among other important facilities of organization—were lacking. “Well, it was my job to stop the terrorists, any terrorist at all in that city. Took a team, first team I’ve ever had, and got them all killed in a glorious fireball. Wrong person at the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone sold us out and took my team away right in front of me.” 

Leon’s gaze was drawn to nothing for a moment as the emptiness settled in his chest. “I keep fighting and fighting and fighting,” he said, words low. “Instead of seeing an end to this shit, it just keeps getting worse.” He swallowed hard, feeling cold all over despite the jacket he was wearing. “Is this what my life’s supposed to be?” Leon whispered. “Fighting the living dead and the bastards that make them?” He shook his head. “What’s the point of it all?”

He made to throw back a shot but noticed his glass was empty. He reached for the nearly-empty handle, but Chris beat him to it, taking the bottle—

And pouring Leon the last of it.

Leon stared at Chris, trying to get a read on his expression as Chris pushed the empty handle away and pulled out a laptop, placing it on the table, tapping away at the keys with clunky fingers, turning it around for Leon to see. 

The image shown was of a man with silver hair and a strong jaw, older than Chris and Leon both, but definitely not old enough to be Chris’s dad or someone like it. He was wearing what looked like an expensive suit from the way it was tailored to his shoulders and neck. There was a dangerous look in his eyes in the sense that it was pure narcissism, cold confidence that made Leon wary. Guys who looked like that wearing suits that pricey had good reason to act as if the world was their playground. Leon wished Hannigan had never spilled the beans regarding his whereabouts.

“This is Glenn Arias,” Chris said almost gently as Leon squeezed his glass tight in his grip and tried to give Chris some iota of attention when the emptiness in his chest was still blooming despite everything Chris was trying to do. Giving Leon his drink, using his inside voice— all minuscule, yet all meaning the world for someone like Leon. “An arms dealer. His deals on the black market are so shady that they landed him on a certain government’s watch list.”

Leon made a face. Countless governments took issues with arms dealing, there was too long of a list to be narrowed down. The ambiguity said enough in its own way.

“A smart bomb was dropped on his wedding,” Chris continued. “He lost his family and his wife and now he’s got a grudge. After the attack, he went underground for months, but now he's back with BOWs and a score to settle. Leon— he said his products have targeting capabilities.” Leon’s brow shot up at that detail and Chris’s expression was grim. “From what I've seen, I believe him. And that’s not something we can have out there in the world.”

Leon couldn’t believe this. “So you got an arms dealer on one side… and on the other, a government dropping bombs on weddings.” He sat back again, genuinely disgusted. Maybe the wife hadn’t been innocent in Arias’s dealings, but the families gathered? Children? “Who’s the bad guy here?”

“Arias,” Chris said gently, pleading for Leon to understand. “He’s with— Leon, he’s currently being funded by Los Iluminados.”

Leon _really_ felt like he was stuck in a loop now. An actual fucking groundhog day. Despite the severity of the situation, Leon found himself chuckling, shaking his head, shutting his eyes to try and swallow this next pill. “So you’re telling me that the organization that we apparently _failed_ to take down back in two-thousand-fucking-four is out here trying to end the world again? You’re telling me I’ve gotten even more people killed, _again_ , because I failed to finish the job?” His hands were starting to shake. 

“It’s not like anyone’s blaming you, Leon,” Chris replied, his brow knit. “But we need your help to—”

Leon slammed his hand on the table and snapped, “I’m not sure why the hell you’re coming to me for help when I’m the root of half the problems!”

“Stop!” Rebecca shouted, standing from her seat and turning on Leon. “With everything going on, Leon, all you’re doing is sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself! And you, Chris— you’re letting your history with Leon keep you from handling this the way you should be!” She jabbed her fingers at the accusingly— like a scientist had a leg to stand on against soldiers. Arias is out there about to enact whatever terrible plan he has in motion and you’re both just sitting here, one of you drowning yourself in alcohol and the other letting Leon get away with murder!”

“He hasn’t murdered anyone,” Chris replied a little stiffly.

“But he’s fighting you at every turn,” Rebecca argued, giving Leon a pointed glare. “People are _dying._ Negligence makes you just as guilty as the people releasing these viruses.” Leon flinched at that accusation. Rebecca shook her head. “I cannot believe how alike you two are.”

“What’re you talking about?” Leon asked dully.

“You’re both acting so selfishly!” Rebecca turned away from them, going to her bag and rummaging through it. Chris cast Leon a glance across the table, his expression full of patient concern that had Leon feeling nothing less than absolutely shitty. “The virus is right under our noses. Always has been.”

“I don’t follow,” Chris said as he tore his gaze from Leon with effort, looking to Rebecca. She was holding some strange syringe, rolling back her sleeve.

“We don't need to look for some new virus that Arias is infecting people with,” Rebecca said, her voice pitching low with something almost like passion, the scientist in her enthralled by this new web of information. “The virus is lying dormant inside of everyone— Even you.” Her eyes were on Leon when she said this and Leon felt _sick_ all over. The idea of being infected again—

“What we need to find is the trigger,” she went on thoughtlessly as Leon clutched his glass with both hands and struggled to stem the panic. “Something activates the latent virus and only Arias knows what it is.” She pressed the syringe into her arm, red filling the clear part of the vial, a vial now full with her blood. “But until we find that out, everyone, living and dead, are his potential weapons.” She set the syringe on the table, Chris and Leon both looking at it in bewilderment. Did she not understand that they were the guns that protected the brains?

“If we don't figure this out now, there won't be little towns like this for you to drink your sorrows away in ever again.” Rebecca’s eyes on Leon felt like knives. He couldn’t look at her for too long, reminded of the quiet judgement of his mother.

“I created a vaccine,” Rebecca then told Chris. “And I tried it on myself and it works. But until we find out how Arias triggers the virus, who knows if it'll work the same for everyone else.” Leon was pretty sure a vaccine was a _vaccine._ If it worked for someone once, the chances of it working for others was pretty damn high. “My blood holds the answers. If I die, get this to a lab you trust.”

Rebecca took a step back again, looking between them with disappointment as she shook her head. “I can't imagine what you two have been through.” She was right. “But I know that neither one of you are the type of person who would sit here while the world dies. That’s not who you are.” She paused. “Or is it?”

Rebecca fucking Chambers didn’t know the first thing about Leon and she needed to stop acting like she did. She turned away and marched to the bathroom, ensuring she had the last word. Leon and Chris were left sitting in silence, Chris looking a little like a whipped dog while Leon just felt tired. And yet—

Leon kicked Chris’s foot gently under the table, wanting his attention. “She’s wrong,” he said firmly. “You’re not letting the world die. You’re doing the right thing. She’s been safe behind her tenure for the past decade while you’ve been on the front lines, facing horrors she gets to study at her desk with no thought as to how it’s made you suffer. Don’t listen to a fucking word she says.” He’d be damned before a bitch like that made Chris feel like he wasn’t good enough. “She should get off her high horse and march in the mud like the rest of us. Like you. Only then will she be able to say she knows the first thing about you and what you’ve been through and what you’ve sacrificed. Got it? Don’t listen to a god damn word out of her mouth.”

Chris stared at him, his eyes unreadable. “And what about you?” he asks. “Is she right about you?”

Leon stiffened and pulled away. “I don’t know— you tell me.”

They both went quiet, realizing what Leon was doing. He was _digging._ He was asking if Chris remembered him yet, if Chris and recovered fully, if Chris was _ready._ Inappropriate timing aside, Leon wanted answers so badly that it overcame his guilt and defensiveness at Rebecca’s condemnation. Leon just wanted to know if his nightmare was finally ending— or at least getting a little better. He just wanted to know if Chris remembered.

“Leon!”

Leon was bolt upright out of his seat and whirling on his heel before he could process anything beyond _knowing that voice._ He saw the squirrelly man running towards him, pale and thin and shaking, and all Leon wanted to do was snap his fucking neck. Instead, he got his hands in the lapels of the jacket that hadn’t been washed in days and slammed the man against the pillar in the center of the room, pinning him, barring his teeth and growling, _“Patricio!”_

“W-wait, wait, let me explain!” Patricio babbled even as he went limp in Leon’s grip in surrender. 

“You want me to wait after what you did?!” Leon shouted into his face, full of rage. “You want me to wait after you killed all of them?! Phillip and Sandra and Eli and Isabelle! You’re a fucking murderer, Patricio, a fucking _traitor!_ ”

“Leon, the hell is going on?”

Leon didn’t startle to realize Chris was suddenly just at his side, the man’s voice full of urgency. Leon glanced to him, hating the wariness he saw, needing to explain, needing Chris to understand. “This is him,” Leon bit out, pleading for Chris to not judge him like Rebecca did. “The one who sold out my unit— the one who killed them!”

“You don’t understand,” Patricio whimpered.

Leon slammed him harder against the pillar. “This is the fucker who took them from me.”

“Please,” Patricio wheezed, his feet kicking uselessly across the wooden floor. “Stop—“

“What are you—”

“Official business, it’s fine.”

Leon ignored Chris telling the waitress to fuck off, staring into Patricio, stunned by the entire thing. Patricio knew Leon knew it was him, Patricio knew Leon was going to fucking _kill_ him, and yet he dared show his face? It wasn’t adding up. Why had Patricio sought him out when he’d known Leon would burn the world down to find him and end him? “What do you want?”

“Please,” Patricio choked out, begging Leon with his pitiful nature. “You’re the only one I know from the DSO! It’s my family— you’ve got to save them!”

The fuck?

“What?” Leon hissed, not knowing what the hell Patricio was talking about.

“My wife and my daughter are in Spain,” Patricio babbled, reaching out to pull at Leon’s arms and try to be released. “An arms dealer is getting paid b-by the surviving members  
of Los lluminados to launch a large-scale bio-terror attack! I know too much. They're going to kill me and my family!”

This wasn’t even funny anymore.

“Did you hear what he said?” Chris interjected excitedly. “It’s our lucky day!”

“Lucky?” Leon repeated incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

Patricio trembled in Leon’s grip. “W-what are you talking about?”

“The name Glenn Arias ring a bell?” Chris asked, leaning into Leon’s space so Patricio would look at him. The heat of Chris’s body so close to his own would’ve been distracting if Leon wasn’t ready to tear Patricio’s throat out with his teeth.

Patricio, somehow, paled even further. “How do you know?”

“I’m psychic,” Chris drawled.

Patricio looked back to Leon. “Leon, I-I need your help— my family!”

It was finally starting to add up. The bomb that had been planted to kill Leon had been a parting gift from Los Iluminados, trying to make good on an old grudge. A decade had passed since Spain and they still hadn’t forgotten the mark Leon had left in their history. He’d be flattered if he wasn’t so rightfully pissed off.

“Let me get this straight,” he began slowly. “You try and get me killed, taking out the new team whose lives were _my responsibility_ instead, and now I'm supposed to save your family?!” Patricio cowered and Leon almost felt sorry for him. And yet— now that Leon knew— now that he really fucking understood who was behind this and _why_ — he realized he couldn’t enact vengeance against another pawn when Leon had only ever been a pawn himself. “Well, how about this?” He offered. “You tell us what you know first, and then we'll decide if we help.”

Tires skidded outside, pitched and distressing. Leon and Chris and Patricio all turned to look out the windows that showed the street outside, dread sliding down Leon’s spine as he saw the armored vehicle stall in front of them. The back doors of the vehicle flung open and a huge, lumbering man stomped down, dressed like some twisted BDSM horror show, carrying a handheld M134 Minigun like it weighed nothing. The giant turned the muzzle sights on them and Leon had a split second to realize his vacation was officially cancelled.

Then the muzzle flared, glass shattered, and Leon hit the deck, scrambling for cover as projectiles shot overhead. He skidded across the floor, the bullets tearing through the table legs of where he’d once sat, the entire thing toppling over and giving him a modicum of cover. Leon flinched from the splinters, looking around frantically for—

Oh thank fuck, Chris was okay, taking cover behind the pillar in the center of the dining area, Patricio pinned between him and the pillar itself. Chris was fine, he was _fine_ , there wasn’t a mark on his body and he was stupidly peaking out from behind the pillar as the oppressive fire rained hell. Leon looked back, needing to see—

The waitress was dead on the floor, her arm severed by the high caliber rounds, the limb stiffening at Leon’s feet. He tore his gaze from her corpse and tried to see if the bullets would ever end, Chris gritting his teeth in frustration as they were pinned down, helpless. The structure of this resort wasn’t going to last.

“When’s he gonna run outta bullets?!” Leon cried out, flinching again as he felt a round whizz past his face, too fucking close.

“Son of a bitch!” Chris bellowed, his hands still on Patricio, keeping him upright. Why did he have to keep him upright? 

Fuck— Patricio. “He was followed!” Leon called out to Chris over the sound of bullets literally tearing this place apart. Something skidded across the ground towards Leon, a flat cellular phone, and he looked up to realize why Chris had to keep Patricio sitting up.

The man was bleeding— bleeding from holes in his side, pale as his body was emptied. Patricio stared into Leon with a steadily fading gleam to his eyes and rasped, “M-my family! Please— save them…” Patricio’s head lulled to the side not a second later, more than likely dead from how much blood was pooling around his body. Leon cursed softly, part of him wishing he could’ve been the one to take Patricio out, and the other part wishing everything would just _stop._ His table was beginning to look like Swiss cheese and there was no way he’d be able to dive for something better. 

_”Rebecca!”_

Leon looked up at Chris’s shout, unable to see what the other man was looking at in such horror. The oppressive fire finally died, but Chris still dropped out of cover too soon, running for the giant hole in the entire left side of the building, his gun up, but the assailants already gone.

“D.C.,” Chris said, pressing into his ear as Leon stood carefully, still feeling bruises from the bomb in Virginia, brushing himself off, clutching the phone and just watching. “They hit us at the hotel and took Rebecca. Track’em.” Chris strode back into the hotel, heading right for Leon. “I know the big guy. He’s with Arias.”

Leon grimaced as shards of glass fell from his jacket. Now he was dealing with a kidnapping on top of a possible outbreak? Fantastic. “What’s Arias want with Rebecca?”

“I don’t know,” Chris confessed. “I just want to get her back.” He was standing in front of Leon now, his brow turned upwards like he was begging. Leon knew what he wanted, what he was going to ask. Leon wished that in the fifteen years he’d known Chris Redfield, he could’ve learned to say no to the man just once.

Leon heaved a sigh as those deep, brown eyes did a number on him, and said, “There goes my vacation— _again._ ” There was a vibration in his hand and he looked at it on reflex, his mind suggesting to him Hannigan needed to yell at him or something, but his thoughts faltered when he recognized that it wasn’t his phone in his palm, but Patricio’s. 

A word was shining on the screen, the name “Lucia” with a stupid little heart emoji next to the letters. Leon stared at the phone, realizing what was about to happening and wishing, with every fiber of his being, that it didn’t have to happen to him. He held up the phone for Chris to see, hoping Chris would save him from this. But Chris just breathed heavily and looked back at Leon, both of them knowing there was no way out. Leon pressed the green button on the bottom left to answer the call and held the phone to his ear.

_“Hi, honey, it's me.”_ Leon’s breath caught as the woman’s voice floated through the speaker, her accent just as thick as Patricio’s. _“Were you able to get the man you said would help? I'm so scared.”_ There was a sigh and Leon’s gaze flitted about, something welling up in his chest and getting caught in his throat as his gaze landed on Patricio’s body. This woman loved the dead man so dearly. She didn’t even know he was gone. Leon should tell her— _“Selena misses her daddy.”_

Oh— oh _fuck._

Patricio had a daughter.

Leon’s breath caught, a hitch that was him fighting back a dry sob as the weight of his inaction settled on his shoulders. Chris was watching him carefully, like he was expecting some sort of report or lightbulb moment or he was expecting Leon to just collapse. Leon looked back at Chris, his eyes stinging as his gaze blurred.

The call went on, the woman none the wiser to the new, horrible world she’d have to live in. _”Patricio? Hello?”_

_“Can I talk to Papa?”_

Oh god, no, _that was the daughter,_ don’t let Leon hear the daughter.

_“Patricio? Who is this?”_

_“Mama, can I talk to Papa? Please.”_

Leon’s hands were starting to shake. He couldn’t breathe right, the guilt swallowing him whole. Patricio had come here for his help to save this very family on the line from a monster of people that Leon had outright failed to terminate so many years ago, and now Patricio and his wife and daughter had paid the ultimate price for Leon’s negligence. 

_“Where’s Patricio? Put my husband on the phone right—”_

Leon hung up before the knife in his chest could be twisted any deeper, feeling wild with how feverishly he’d wanted that call to end. This shit wasn’t his job, contacting the families of the dead wasn’t his job, all he did was get people killed, he didn’t see the aftermath. He wasn’t equipped to handle the aftermath. He gulped down air, looking anywhere but Chris, trying to get his shambled thoughts back together. 

“There's a reason he gave that to you before he died.”

Chris’s voice was almost unwelcome— especially because he wasn’t telling Leon anything he didn’t already know. Of _course_ Patricio had given Leon his phone for a reason, there was literally no way he hadn’t. Patricio had given Leon the phone so Leon would hear the voices of his family and suffer—

“It might have the answers we need in it,” Chris went on, surprising Leon because that— shit, he hadn’t thought of that. “We have Rebecca's laptop. We have leads.”

Leon lifted his head, blinking back those tears of shame and self-deprecation, hating how Chris was too far away and not even reaching for him, hating how this entire fucking shit show had ended up. Why couldn’t he be given a break? Why couldn’t these people just leave him alone?”

"Look, man,” Chris pleaded softly, almost intimately. “You’re one of the best, and I can’t do this alone. I need you.”

Leon shuddered and cut his chin away and nodded. “Fine,” he rasped. “You’ve got me, Chris.” He jerked his head to the hole in the wall, their easiest way out of this ruined resort, and started moving. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Chris didn’t dare wear an expression of gratitude, or at least he didn’t let Leon see it as they stepped out of the rubble. A BSAA V-22 Osprey landed in the clearing just in front of the resort, a much smaller clearing than the one behind it, and Leon inwardly lamented the reasoning skills of the pilot because if he thought about anything else— about Patricio’s cooling body or the wife and daughter on the phone or the waitress in literal pieces on the floor or his dead team— then he’d likely turn right back around and drown himself in anything that hadn’t been shattered behind the bar. 

A woman came down the loading ramp as it lowered, waving them in, the wind whipping her dark brown hair about her face. Chris and Leon began to run, crossing the open expanse, Leon’s eyes drawn down the long road to their left— where Rebecca had been taken. 

Just what the hell was he even doing?

The woman grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up, Leon shrugging out of her grip as soon as he could on instinct, eyeing her warily. She didn’t pay him any attention, instead looking to Chris, who had Rebecca’s bag in his hands, her laptop tucked under his arm. “D.C. says they’re headed north, from what he can tell. Any ideas?”

“We’ll know once we crack this open,” Chris said, dropping the bag to hold up the laptop. He pulled the laptop open, eyes scanning whatever data was still on the screen. “Rebecca gave us a sample of her blood that she says can be used to reverse engineer the vaccine, but I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.”

“Was her vaccine really kept on a local server?” Leon asked incredulously, Chris and the woman looking to him in question. “Are you— is the BSAA really that fucking stupid? It’s 2014, we have internet servers that can hold the data from anywhere in the fucking world, and you guys operate your vaccine network— that supports a _global_ operation— on remote server access?”

“Nadia, meet Leon S. Kennedy,” Chris said, gesturing towards Leon. “One of the most notorious BOW fighters in the world and the BSAA’s least biggest fan.”

“Holy shit,” Nadia said slowly, her eyes going wide. “Kennedy? As in the Kennedy report?”

“I can’t wait for the day that my name doesn’t become synonymous with parasitic entities that literally feed on the spinal column,” Leon deadpanned.

“Then do something cooler.”

Leon whirled around at the newest voice, his sights landing on Piers Nivans, in the flesh with the latest tech in his arm and eye. It had only been a year, but Piers looked _decades_ better than he had in that hotel bed in China with a missing limb and infection bubbling from his skin. There were still cracks in his face, dark lines almost like mountain peaks on topographical maps, but he was still human, after all this time, and that was what mattered. The single-lens glass covering his eye extending from a frame-wire from his ear fed down his neck into his shirt, likely reaching into his arm. The robotic prosthetic Leon had commissioned solely for the purpose of allowing Piers back on the field, the arm he had reviewed countless drafts of before PT had been approved— the arm that was on Piers right now, polished titanium a customized Hero Arm with panelling and exhaust for temperatures and humidity, a fucking work of scientific art that Leon was finally seeing, for the first time, on the man it had been designed for.

Leon was an emotional wreck right now. “Jesus.”

Piers grinned and raised the arm as smoothly as a human limb of flesh and blood. “Yeah? What do you think?” The arm was just a tad bit wider the Piers’s other arm, and painted a cool blue with accents of silver for the joints and fingers. “I was gonna see about adding some flame decals, but Chris said you don’t put a bumper sticker on a Lamborghini, and I think I reluctantly agree.”

Leon shook himself, desperately trying to _get it together._ “Jesus.”

Piers grinned wider and held out the prosthetic. “Good to see you, Agent Kennedy.”

Leon took the hand to shake— and marveled over it. “The grip sensitivity is impeccable,” he observed, looking over the way each individual finger had its own bend and movement capability. “Are you able to pass the grape test?”

“Flying colors, Agent Kennedy,” Piers told him.

“Holy shit,” Leon whispered, staring at the arm. “I just— holy shit.”

“You can play with the toys later,” Chris said as he marched past them. “Piers, I need you up front with D.C. for navigation and to reach out to DSO Director Hannigan for a temporary LOA of Agent Kennedy. Nadia, I want you to get on comms with the BSAA and see who you can reach about getting us some sort of ground transportation, anything we’re allowed to have. And Leon—”

“Give me that laptop.” He reached for the computer Chris still had, setting it down on the bench and going down on a knee as he searched through the files after slipping the microSDXC into the receiving slot. Chris was good with tech, but Leon read a lot faster than him from what Leon had gathered over the years. His eyes flitted across the screen, absorbing the information as well as he could on such short notice, this particular skill honed through years of being dropped into the middle of nowhere and being forced to memorize stupid riddles in a blink. He nodded slowly along as it all added up and waved Chris over. 

“Rebecca had it figured out,” he told Chris as Chris joined him, the larger man frowning at the screen. “She was able to split it up— the virus has three strains, the first allowing the virus to lay in dormancy, the second allowing the virus to be triggered and full infection take place with the subject turning, and the third marking the subject as a target for infected even if the second strain isn’t triggered. Like a homing beacon for those who turned to run towards and devour. It ensures everyone who has the virus will die from it, in some way, while the method of infection is…”

Leon shook his head as he got to that page. “The Great Lakes. He infected all of the fucking lakes with this shit. Anyone drinking the water bottled from there is getting a dose, not to mention the natural systems that use that water.” He made a face. “Good thing the Great Lakes make up just barely ten percent of the drinking water for the total United States. What was he thinking he could do with this? All of these incidents center around the Great Lakes, meanwhile the East and West Coast don’t even touch that water.”

“But even then, god knows how many are infected,” Chris murmured as he looked over the map Leon had brought up of all the known attacks. They all centered around the Great Lakes, crossing the border into Canada. Leon distantly wondered if Chris was worried about anyone he had back in Ottawa who could’ve drank this shit. Hell— what if Chris had drank it? “How does this work?”

Leon shook his head, closing what Rebecca had jotted down for the virus characteristics and opening Patricio’s information. “If they’re looking to trigger the second strain in any kind of uniformity, then it would have to be using a gas,” he theorized. “Since the virus is already in the body, the triggering itself would have to be fast— as quick as a breath of air, essentially. And it has to be able to expand and cover a large distance to create the ideal numbers for an outbreak rather than sporadic events.”

“So a gas,” Chris agreed. “But— if the trigger’s airborne, then it’s harder to control where it goes and who gets it, right?”

Leon nods thoughtfully, scanning the sparse notes in front of him as his brain began to fill in the gaps. “So then Arias has to be using some kind of vaccine himself. That’s how he controls the spread of the outbreak. He vaccinates anyone he doesn’t want infected first, rendering them invisible to the virus without that third strain marker. Which makes for a more accurate weapon. And since the third strain of the virus ensures the infected person will be attacked by those already with the second stage triggered, then literally anyone infected will be guaranteed to die. It’s— actually pretty fucking genius. With such a reliable wide spread of infection, you’ve basically got an instantaneous and foolproof outbreak with complete control of survivors if you have a way to spread the gas across large areas. Maybe through sewers? Or an AC unit?”

“Wouldn’t it depend on where the target is?” Chris asked. “Would the gas being used outdoors be better or worse?”

“Depends on the wind and the lifespan of the gas itself and if density matters for triggering,” Leon murmured. “Patricio didn’t have a lot of this, but it’s what makes sense.”

“But Arias is planning something big,” Chris said.

“Something Patricio knew too much about,” Leon agreed as he searched around, scanning file names and spreads of data for anything. “Something that was big enough to get him killed.”

“Not that killing a lackey is big for these bastards,” Chris grumbled. “Attempting to assassinate Leon S. Kennedy, though? That’s a bold move.”

Leon blinked once as he realized, distantly, Chris was right. That had been a genuine assassination attempt on his life. And a really fucking sloppy one at that. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, trying to ignore that for later when he could really lose his shit. “Right now we need to find out—”

He stilled, hands frozen on the keyboard as he stumbled over the document outlining Arias’s next step in his plan— a plan that had Leon’s blood running cold. He mindlessly reached out and pulled at Chris’s forearm, begging his attention to the screen so Chris could see and shout in Leon’s ear, “He’s gonna use the trigger virus on New York City?!”

“Looks like it,” Leon rasped, thinking of another address in New York City, a basement with a freezer and a house with far too few locks. 

“He’s out of his damn mind,” Chris hissed.

Leon shook himself and scrolled through what looked like a scanned document with half the lines blacked out. He remembered reading in Rebecca’s collection that Arias was ex-CIA, so it would make sense that everything he touched ended up behind red tape. _“If the outbreak is deemed uncontrollable, tanks labeled with a green A contain the vaccine and are ready to be deployed. Location classified.”_

Chris nodded slowly. “All we have to do is find the stuff and make everyone change back.”

“Like flipping a safety switch,” Leon agreed softly. “But if you were Arias, where would you keep it?”

“Someplace he can get to fast,” Chris thought aloud. “Somewhere secure.”

Leon pulled up Rebecca’s collection on Arias that was coupled with a little of BSAA’s own digging, finding a list of addresses, one of which had a recognizable area code. Leon leaned back a little for Chris to see as he said, “His hideout in New York, then, right? No where else has his name on it— or alias, really, but that’s all we’ve got. Where else would he keep it but with him? He’s such a control freak that he has a virus engineered to let him play god with the spread of infection. Having the vaccine on him fits the bill.”

“I’ll bet we’ll find Rebecca there too,” Chris said, his eyes on the screen, on the map in the corner that had the address in question displayed. Leon knew the area, too, the Upper East Side of Manhattan, an area boasting the one of the most expensive zip codes in the state as far as Leon remembered. Sherry-Netherland, 781 Fifth avenue. He’d seen that eyesore of a hotel-gone-apartment complex a couple times when he’d lived in that shit hole of a city. He wasn’t surprised to learn that Arias had gotten his claws in there.

“It’ll be hard to get in,” he said softly as he fought down the surge of memories, of being too small and looking up at a building that was too tall with bruises down one half of his face. “Looks like he’s got the penthouse, right at the top. We won’t be able to sneak in very easily.”

“The attack happens today, Leon.”

Chris’s reminder was a little too much. He flexed his hands in his lap and wondered if Chris remembered— if he knew that not only was Leon now losing some much needed rest, but he was being forced to go “home”. 

Leon wondered if his parents had gotten a dose of the virus. The part of him that hoped they had was something Leon hated about himself.

“Leon.”

Leon looked up as Chris called his name. The man looked concerned again like how he’d been looking at Leon back in the resort.

“You with me, Leon?”

“Yeah,” Leon lied. “Just— thinking. About how this doesn’t make sense. Cause NYC gets its drinking water from Delaware and the Catskill.” His eyes were back on the screen, thinking of his sick parents rotting from the inside out, satisfaction welling disturbingly in his core at the thought. “Guess the recent hurricane up by Delaware is to blame for that. An industrial district got hit hard and filtration was also shot. Maybe the local government put out an advisory against drinking the tap water too. Maybe they had to important from other sources.” His thought of his mother sinking her black teeth into his father’s chest and felt _good_. “It would explain complete local population saturation, as even homeless services would be handing out bottled water. Arias must have found a way to ensure it would come from the infected source.”

“Leon, come back to me.”

Leon dug his nails into his thighs and nodded. From behind, beyond where Chris was watching him like he was waiting for Leon to fall apart, there was a low whistle. 

“Where’d you learn all that, Agent Kennedy?” Piers asked curiously. “You’re like an encyclopedia.”

“Piers,” Chris said slowly. “Contact Director Hannigan.”

“Shit— sorry, Captain.” There was the normal clunk of footsteps leaving them, Piers still as heavy on his feet as any BSAA operative had ever been. There was silence in the cargo hold now, save the distant voice of Nadia talking with someone on a cell. Leon felt a sway to the craft and finally realized they were in the air, on their way. Hopefully the pilot knew where he was going.

“Leon.”

He looked up as his name was called, meeting Chris’s concern with a wall of disinterest of his own. He cut his chin and tried to keep from giving anything away. “What?”

Chris hesitated. “Are you alright?”

“If you have to ask that, then there’s no way I’d tell you.” If Chris didn’t remember why Leon would give anything not to go to New York, then he wasn’t about to get the truth. Leon didn’t tell anyone about New York, save Chris and Jake, and the Chris before him now wasn’t the same, nor was Leon ready. “We’ve got a job to do, right? You’re the one who wanted me here, with you. You don’t have the right to complain about how I work.”

“You’re never anything but perfect in this line of work, Leon, I can promise you that,” Chris told him gently. “But are you _alright_?”

Leon was stunned for a moment, wondering if Chris really did _know_ and was just trying to be surreptitious about it. What if Chris was just wary of letting anyone hear something that they shouldn’t? What if, this entire time, it was a front to safeguard Leon’s secrets?

“Rebecca’s life is on the line,” Chris said as Leon’s silence pervaded, likely disappointing him. “I need you here, with me, right now, and not lost in your head. Got it?”

Then he stood and went to Nadia, the broad expanse of his back and all of that gear feeling just like the wall Leon had built on his expression. For Chris’s rejection of Leon’s feelings and needs, he’d only given Leon more question. Chris was acting distant but he was saying things that he wouldn’t have remembered a year ago. Was Leon being toyed with? Was this some sort of punishment, to be tortured with not knowing what Chris knew? Was there no hope for full recovery and Chris just didn’t want him to know? Was there even a fucking point in waiting anymore?

It didn’t matter if there was a point or not, though, because Leon would wait forever. The few hints towards Chris’s memory returning were too sweet of a temptation for him to deny. After all— from the very beginning, Chris had always told Leon to stay out of his head before it got someone killed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why this one took so long considering the moment I finally found a good way to begin (I had to restart like 3 times) I ended up finishing in two days
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I am nothing if not inconsistent and dumb

_“I don’t know where he is, Leon— last I heard, he was in the building going for Rebecca, and now I can’t get his radio signal!”_

Leon cursed, his hand clenching the brake reflexively to slow his speed so he can make a very dangerous, very illegal sudden left turn through the sparse traffic of NYC, sending him back into the gridlock of skyscrapers and back into downtown. He knew, shakily, how to get to the Upper East Side, and he knew where the Sherry-Netherland was, the fucking monstrosity. He just needed Chris to survive long enough for him to get there. “That asshole went in without any back up?”

_“He went in before I could even suggest it,”_ Piers admitted, his voice low and grim through the earpiece. _“Didn’t think Arias would have airwave-blocking tech, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I know Chris is heading to the upper level, but I don’t think the elevator is gonna work for him— or you.”_

Leon had what Chris didn’t— wheels. “So I’ve got time,” Leon said, weaving between the reaching hands of the undead. The entire city had been turned in a matter of seconds, courtesy of the water tanker trucks bearing the logo for A-GUA-G that had slid calmly through the streets, dispersing the trigger virus for the population to gulp down like medicine. Leon wished he could say it looked painless enough, but he knew better than most that any one of these BOW viruses and parasites were anything but easy to digest. Still—

As he bobbed and ducked and shot through narrowing grasps of hordes, he felt some strange sort of hope for the ones who had been turned via the gas. Their bodies were free of injuries and the virus itself seemed to have a safeguard against auto-cannibalism, the infected only going for non-infected rather than one another . While the unfortunate few who hadn’t gotten a dose of the first strain were torn to shreds, the ones who had been triggered could very well be given an antidote. And wouldn’t that be the strangest thing? Actually _curing_ these people. It made Leon wary to use his gun on any of them, even for his own personal safety. Any of the infected without injuries were going to be spared his bullets— that was his own personal promise for this assignment, however stupid it may be.

“I’m almost there,” he told Piers, keeping his voice steady for the soldier’s benefit. “Sun’s setting— keep an eye out on the top suite just in case. That’s where Arias should be.” The bastard owned the entire top three floors. “Don’t be afraid to open fire.”

_“I’ve got Nadia on the guns and D.C.’s flying,”_ Piers told him, still sounding entirely on edge. Leon was inwardly grateful the BSAA had let Piers stay with his captain. God knew no one else would earn Piers’s loyalty like Chris had. _“Get him out of there, Leon. In one piece.”_

Leon cut his chin to the side. “It’s what I’ve always done.”

A hand snagged strands of hair as the call ended, tearing them from his scalp, only a second of a touch yet Leon yanked his head out of reach regardless even though his speed brought him past the clutches of the undead easily. He snarled and shook himself, pulling back and sending the bike shooting forward. Leon hoped he didn’t run into anymore of those tankards— he’d used his last grenade on those infected dogs back on the highway. Just the memory of their snapping jowls had him tense, even as the victory was still settling in his bones. There wasn’t time for celebration during shit like this— every victory was just a short lived breather into the next fight. 

As he zipped through the streets, the Sherry-Netherland began to show itself from between high skyscrapers, its almost modest size just barely enough to break into the skyline were he far enough away for a glimpse. 

He’d been here before, now that he thought about it— on a field trip. His mother had chaperoned. That was probably why he didn’t like to think about it if he could. They’d only seen the lobby, touring historical buildings in the city, but Leon remembered feeling as tiny as ever with the heavy weight of his mother’s eyes on his back, daring him to touch anything. All of the art and furniture and decorations were twice his worth, even now. He should never touch something that he wasn’t worthy to touch.

The doors to the Sherry-Netherland were open, held wide by corpses dead-for-good on the ground. Leon sped into the tiny lobby that was lacking a bar thanks to prohibition and made sure to kick over a gilded floor lamp just as a final middle finger to his bitch of a mother, may she never rest in peace. The tires squealed as he veered for the stairs, grinning sharply as he found he could fit the entire Ducati in the stairwell and that the turning radius, surprisingly, took the corners like a dream. 

“Yeah,” he said softly to himself, revving the motor and breathing in the scent of gasoline as he climbed the stairs. “I’m definitely gonna have to get me one of these.”

If he made it out, that was. Leon needed to remind himself that there was always the very genuine possibility he wouldn’t make it out one of these days. He was getting old, right? Older, that was. Jake would happily call him old, so there was probably some truth to that.

Leon grimaced as he ran his hand down the front hump of the motorcycle while turning a corner with the other, splaying his hand across the metal that vibrated under his palm with the engine. Once upon a time, he’d wanted a dog too. Nowadays he killed dogs more than he got the chance to pet them. He’d never wanted a family until recently, and maybe he actually had one too, between Sherry and Jake, but he still didn’t feel whole. Was he ever going to? Thirty-seven years old— well past the dating stage. His parents had gotten married when they were in their early twenties. That was when most babies were made these days. Leon had missed that stage of life. What was he heading into? Over the hell jokes with black candles? Had he just wasted it all away waiting for a man who might never even remember him?

The engine reverberated off the concrete walls with every level gained. He couldn’t get any higher than level thirty-six, which was a hilarious coincidence in his opinion. Just one more up and it’d be his current “lucky” number. Leon grimaced and reminded himself he wasn’t fighting to stay alive for Chris anymore— he arguably never had. Sherry had always been his motive for surviving. But now that she could defend herself with her eyes shut, now that she was independent and no longer relying on the big bad government agent to keep her from being homeless and experimented on (and hadn’t he failed there too?), then…

He sighed, his adrenaline foolishly fading, lulled into peace by the steady thrum and turn of the bike, the monotony of the climb. It was going to pick back up, his heart would be racing in seconds, he knew as much as well as he knew the scars on his own body. He couldn’t afford a drop right now. Not in his mood, not in his attention, not in his resolve. He just—

He wished he knew if Chris remembered or not. It was torturing him to not know. Leon just wanted to know if the loneliness would ever leave or if he’d be alone for the rest of his life. He’d be fine with it either way, probably, but he still wanted to know _right now._ Gray areas and unanswered questions got people like him killed. He couldn’t afford to be in the dark.

Overhead, the closer he got, Leon began to hear gunshots. He let out a slow, steady breath and revved the engine harder to mute the sound of gunfire and climb faster, bracing himself. The closer he got, the louder the bullets became. He prayed Chris would last long enough for Leon to arrive. He prayed he’d get there on time. And he prayed— above all else— that Chris was ready for him, cause Leon was not going to slow down. The engine began to roar, tires skidding, filling the small stairwell with the stench of burning rubber, but he refused to flinch. His hand on the throttle, his mind running down how many bullets he had left, his eyes sharp and anticipating the first sight of the undead, the first sight of Chris—

The stairs reached their end, muzzle fire flashed around the corner, and Leon shot into the hall like a bullet himself, his gun up and popping perfect shots with ease, three down with holes in their heads. Chris stood there, in the center of the hall, watching the bodies Leon dropped with an unreadable expression. Leon skidded to a halt in front of him and couldn’t deny the relief that flooded his chest to see Chris in one piece, that stupid automatic rifle clutched in his hands, eyes suddenly drawn to Leon like he couldn’t believe Leon was there. Leon dismounted the bike and Chris barreled towards him, intent flashing in his eyes.

“Leon,” he said, voice a rush.

“Sorry I’m late,” Leon drawled as he walked towards Chris wondering why he was stomping towards him like a behemoth. “Had to take the stairs—”

A warm hand was around the back of his neck as wet lips met his, and Leon froze, rigid as stone, glued to the spot as Chris’s breath blossomed gently across his mouth and a talented tongue swept across his lower lip. Time slowed, Leon’s entire being hyper focused on the places where Chris was touching him, the hand at his nape, the other hand going to rest on his waist, their mouths and the brush of Chris’s nose against his cheek. 

Chris seemed to have gotten taller, having to bend lower to kiss him, and he tasted of blood and sweat. Leon was too stunned to close his eyes, so he watched Chris’s lashes flutter against his fair skin, the larger man pressing firmly into the kiss before rocking back on his heel just enough to pull an inch or so away. Room to breathe, but not apart. Leon shuddered hard under his hands and choked out, “Oh fuck.”

“You dyed your hair,” Chris murmured into the scant space between them, eyes sharp. Leon’s mind stuttered over the statement as Chris’s eyes narrowed. “You dyed it— why?”

“What, you don’t like it?” was all Leon could get out. Holy fucking fucker fuck, Chris had just fucking kissed him for the first time in a _decade_ and now he was critiquing Leon’s hair? Talk about the least ideal thing Chris could have said during this very moment that Leon had dreamed of for years. What a fucking kick in the teeth. “Sherry said it would look good.”

Chris’s narrowed eyes didn’t give anything away. “That’s not true.”

Leon wanted to shut the asshole up with his mouth—

There was the ding of an elevator to their left, doors sliding open to allow a shambling mass of corpses stagger from the hold, all of them torn in some way with blood staining their skin. Leon was momentarily stunned by the entire thing. Did they just receive an express shipment of undead? Was this really Arias’s idea of security?

Chris and Leon looked back to each other, both of them positively insulted by this. Then Leon shrugged, and Chris shrugged back. They turned to the horde as one, weapons up, pulling their triggers in perfect unison, and then falling apart to avoid a wild lunge.

It was chaos from there, but a measured chaos Leon was accustomed to. The SIG Sauer was a steady weight in his hand as Leon advanced through the masses of the undead, steadily taking down anything and everything that got in his way. Leon was fast on his feet, turning on his heels with the drop of a dime and landing every bullet he sent from Peach, throwing a zombie’s grab for his arm and twisting around again to put a bullet in its head. 

He was surrounded on all sides, but never panicked. As the undead got within reach, he spun on a dial and took each one down, never wasting a single bullet on a bet. He slid beneath arms and broke the elbow of one undead that had a grip on his sleeve, putting down an infected that came from the front, then whipping around and putting the one that had grabbed him down with its friends. Getting up close and personal, having the muzzle pressed flush to the decayed skulls, ensured every shot counted, the adrenaline of being so close to snapping teeth making his movement fluid with instinct and years of training rather than deliberate thought. He felt like he was a wave crashing through rocks on a shoreline, battering it all down with steady patience, waiting for the infected to come to him so he could take them out with deadly prejudice. 

As two got within breath’s distance, Leon slammed his elbow into the face of the one on the left, shot the jaw of the one on the right, then put a hole between the eyes of the first. Another reached for him just beyond the two, and he grabbed it by the shoulder, twisting its body down so he could put a bullet through the back of its head, shoving the limp corpse away as he registered a hand on his ankle. He twisted, spun around, gracefully dropping his knee down into the back of the infected, shoving it face first onto the floor so he could execute it only to bring his sights right back up and take down three more.

Sometimes he worried that killing was all he would ever be good for.

Down the hall, Chris flipped an infected over his shoulder, tore its head open with his endless stream of bullets, and sprayed more down the hall. He was facing away, a steady presence, a wall between Leon and what was left of the horde. Captain Chris Redfield, in his element, taking down the infected and making the world a safer place.

And then there was Leon— a recluse murderer who couldn’t move on from the man before him.

Leon yanked himself from his thoughts to reload his gun, the elevator dinging over the roaring to signal the arrival of more trouble. The marble floors and walls were more red than stone at this point, the ground slick with blood, squeaking beneath the soles of Leon’s boots as he moved through the throng, staying quick to stay alive. An infected reached for him, and sheer frustration had Leon grabbing the fucker by the hair, slamming the infected into the ground, and firing three more shots into the horde before shooting out the elbow and shoving his knee into the pinned infected, sending it sliding out of teeth distance while momentum whirled him around. He shot the stomach of the infected behind him, grabbed it, threw it to the ground with the one with the blown out elbow, and stacked their skulls up, firing a single clean shot through both their rotten brains.

He heard a growl approaching and swept his leg out in a Rasteira de costa, sending the infected dropping to the floor and sliding on his stomach to pop its head. More undead ran for him, and he kicked his legs, knocking down another, taking it out and then dropping yet _another_. He rolled back into a crouch, firing down the hall, feeling disgusting and wild the more the pungent scent of blood pierced his mind. There was so fucking much of it staining his clothes and skin and hair, so much clinging to his body, so much more than he could hope to wash away. The infected got too close over and over and over. It didn’t matter how many Leon took out, there would always be more closing the distance. He couldn’t take a break. He couldn’t fucking _breathe._ Leon could see Chris across the hall, the man was fighting and alive, so why the fuck was Leon starting to lose it?

Was it the kiss? Was Leon like this— frantic, short breath coupled with clammy hands and trembling muscles— because Chris had kissed him only to tear himself away again? Was Leon that far gone? Was Leon that desperate to have Chris back that he was letting it break away his instincts? He hadn’t even flinched from Chris’s touch. Was he so fucking weak that he would just let everything he’d learned go in one fell swoop on the off chance that Chris could want him again?

He still didn’t know if Chris remembered anything. And what had Chris said after the kiss? That Leon’s dyed hair didn’t look good.

What the hell was Leon even doing anymore?

Chris’s gun was knocked from his hands— and before Leon could reach him to help, Chris had the infected in a headlock, throwing himself onto his back and smashing open the skull. He darted forward to snatch up the M4A1 Carbine just as Leon finally got to his side. They went shoulder to shoulder, watching the other’s back, and Leon shuddered a breath of relief to feel Chris’s warmth.

“Rebecca’s running out of time!” he shouted in Leon’s ear.

Of course she was. Leon was going to suggest something really fucking stupid. “Then let’s split up!”

Chris nodded— Leon hated that he agreed without hesitation and left Leon’s side without a word, sprinting for the elevator, mowing down what infected he could along the way, leaving Leon backed up in a corner. 

Leon turned and faced the horde that was quickly realizing he was the one left behind. The Sauer was reliable in his hands, but his hands themselves were beginning to fail. His heartbeat pitched faster and faster as he realized Chris had left him without a thought, that Chris didn’t fucking _remember_ , that he would never remember and yet he had _kissed Leon._ It was so unfair, so fucking unfair that Leon wanted to kick and scream and swear at the sky, at the cruel god that had given him this life, at the fucking world that just let him suffer. If he were half the man his father was, like Leon’s reflection had shown, Leon would have burned this whole fucking world into _ash._

The undead came too close, but Leon couldn’t stop. He pulled the trigger again and again as anger bubbled in his chest, stifling his thoughts and making him crazy. He pulled that fucking trigger and roared with the horde, showing them that he wasn’t afraid of their teeth because nothing they could to do him would amount to what he’d already done to himself. He screamed, defiant, and the undead screamed back.

And— as always— Leon lost a part of his self when Chris turned away from him.

There was no control from then on, no grace or stability to his movements, just the cruel and brutal put down of everything that snapped their its in his direction. He’d felt this only a few times before, all in the past, that stairwell with Luis Sera or that lift in TRICELL, moments of complete detachment that left him tired and empty. Moments that made him wonder if he was even human at this point. So much exposure to disease and evil had to change even the best of men, so why couldn’t it change someone as fucked up as he’d always been? Why couldn’t he fall just a little bit further?

It didn’t help that Leon was, once again, wondering what was the point of everything. He’d been given a team for a day and lost it, he still couldn’t get Jake to trust him enough to tell him his middle fucking name, he couldn’t even get Chris to tell him a modicum of truth anymore. What was he working for anymore? A peaceful world? Peace was an illusion and there would never be a moment on this planet without violence. Fifteen years ago, Leon had sent Chris off with a kiss and a well-wishing of making the world better— Leon didn’t believe in a better world anymore. He didn’t believe in anything. 

Not even— not even Chris.

As Leon put down the undead, no longer counting bullets, just reloading from the clips on his belt and figuring he’d run out when he ran out, Leon understood that Chris was a lost cause, a false god, something unattainable and therefore stupid to reach for. Leon was never going to have him because Leon had never deserved him in the first place. 

So why the _fuck_ was he even trying anymore?

As the quiet finally bloomed and Leon’s gun finally began to grow cold in his grip, the flow of corpses ebbing, he felt the building shake. The dust was settling around him, blood making his pants stick to his legs, the fight won, and yet Leon’s heart was still racing, his instincts insisting, his gut determined to keep him on edge. And as the shaking of the building followed a rhythm, like footsteps or a climb, followed by an inhuman bellow—

_”Redfield!”_

— from high overhead, Leon realized that, false god or not, he was going to get in that fucking elevator and get up top and save Chris’s ass because that was the only thing he knew how to do.

Leon sighed, tilted his head back for a moment of breath, and then moved, stepping over limbs to grab the Ducati and steer it into the chrome lift, smacking the button for the top level with a balled, bloody fist, and settling down in the seat of the bike as he waited to arrive.

Judging by the thundering of that movement and the sheer inhuman reverberating of the voice, Leon was going to guess that someone— probably Arias— had gotten a good dose of something nasty to make him even nastier. Of all the fucking things—

The elevator dinged the arrival on the thirty-eighth floor, and Leon cut his chin to the side. “Hell of a vacation.” He revved the engine as the doors slid open and the cold, night air hit him in the face. Rubber squealed and he shot out of the elevator, taking in the sight of Chris held in a giant’s grip, the other man struggling, pain obvious across his features as Arias did his best to break every bone in Chris’s body with his monstrous, gut-glistening hand. Leon brought Peach up and aimed his sights, only for Arias to grin like a freak and bring Chris in front, using him as a shield. Leon—

Leon was going to kill this fucker, no doubt about that, and he was going to _enjoy it._ No one used Chris like that and got away with it. Thinking quickly, Leon yanked the bike and let it drop onto its side, rolling across the concrete as the bike slid into Arias’s freakish legs, knocking the giant over and Chris from his grip. The impact on the ground had Leon slow, his body aching with the bruises that were only barely not broken bones. He heard this awful, inhuman gurgling to his left, looking up just in time to see Arias’s dark hand wrap around his own torso, the fucker lifting Leon up like he was nothing. Leon cursed and thrashed in his grip, but whatever Arias had shot himself full of was beyond Leon’s ability. Fuck these assholes and thinking they were better just cause they were bigger. 

As Arias held Leon up like a doll, Leon’s expression twisted with agony as he beat uselessly on the hand with one fist. Arias grinned like the fucking devil and then turned, winding up before he threw Leon across the expanse of the entire deck. The world spun, becoming a blur of black and light, and pain bloomed across Leon’s spine as he hit the corner of the elevator shaft. His body hit the ground hard, but the adrenaline of the throw was harder, and he immediately kicked at the ground to turn himself around, firing at Arias from the floor on his side. 

Every fucking shot landed, sending Arias lurching back with a spray of blood and whatever else was inside him, Leon taking a sick enjoyment in hurting him. Even as the giant lumbered closer, Leon was fighting back a grin. He enjoyed felling the big guys more than the little ones. All the more satisfying when they dropped.

As the barrage of shots put a lull in Arias’s advance, Leon pushed up onto one knee and reloaded Peach with what was his second to last clip. It wouldn’t last. This definitely wasn’t even close to a fair fight, not when the next steady barrage of bullets failed to slow Arias, the fucker stomping towards him with a vengeance. As Leon reloaded again, Arias reached him and pulled his arm back only to slam his fist into the ground, Leon ducking and rolling out of the way just in time. He spun back onto his feet and sprinted for Arias, seeing an in that was more suicidal than reasonable, but his best option yet. 

Arias drove his fist into the ground again, Leon dropping onto his back and skidding across the concrete between Arias’s feet, then doing the same again as Arias made a blind swing. Leon slid across the ground on his back, gun up and peppering into the weakly glowing spot in Arias’s chest, visible from back and front. If Leon could just get the protective layer of muscle and blood away—

Leon rolled onto his back as Arias swung again, bringing up that fist to crush Leon beneath it, but Leon thinking quicker and grabbing that fist as it flung up, launching Leon into the sky with it. In the air, weightless, the lights of NYC twinkling beneath him, trauma that could’t touch him, Leon felt like a fucking monster in his own right. With agility and control he hadn’t even known he was capable of, Leon contorted his body into a perfectly straight line, letting gravity do the rest as he aimed Peach down the line of his arms, slamming shots into Arias’s ugly face as he dropped gracefully from above. As Arias flinched and Leon got closer, he flipped his body midair and slammed the hell of his boot into Arias’s stupid skull while landing on the swing Arias had meant to break Leon in half with. And as Leon was thrown back into the air by his own kick, he aimed Peach and held his breath, hoping to get that one perfect shot into—

Bone collided with his body and Leon’s rib— fractured by the hit to the elevator— snapped as he was throw through the air by a deadly kick from Arias. His back hit the deck railing, glass shattering and falling around him like rain, Leon barely catching himself on the ledge of the deck and teetering over the side, staring down at the city below, gasping for breath as the realization of how close he’d come to death slammed into his chest and broken rib.

Funny— as a kid, Leon had always thought he’d die here. He wondered if he’d just been a couple decades too early with the revelation. 

Leon forced himself back to his knees, looked up, and saw Arias’s reach a moment too late. In a blink, Leon was in the grip of the giant again, helpless and hurting, struggling as Arias leered at him, his white eyes scanning Leon like he was prey.

God— the hell had Arias even done to himself? He was just a hulking mass of flesh and muscle at this point, like a human with their skin flayed with the precision of a hunter. Veins pulsed across the surface, running white with some sort of infection deep within, most of them leading to a second human face in Arias’s shoulder, the rest running to the weak glow above Arias’s heart. Despite the blood that was staining Leon, he could still feel the slickness of whatever runoff came from Arias’s diseased body seeping through his clothes. The stench was like sulfur and rot, a familiar thing to Leon by now, but never any less putrid. And the way Arias was smiling at him—

The grip tightened and Leon gasped, squeezing his eyes shut in a useless grasp for control of his expression, not wanting this bastard to see how much it hurt. But he already had his rib broken from hitting the wall, he already had aches he hadn’t overcome from Virginia, and he heard something snap deep within his body, his ribcage crumbling to the hand around him. He felt small and weak and _scared_ —

Arias held his free hand up and Leon couldn’t close his eyes any longer as the sharp points on Arias’s fingers became long spears of extended bone, sharp as a blade, all five so fucking close to Leon’s face that he could feel the air disturbed by the sudden extension. He turned away as the bone delicately scraped across his cheek and then lifted his chin, almost caressing him. Leon glared back, not wanting this man to see the fear in Leon’s eyes before he died, and tried to catch a glimpse of Chris in his peripherals. As long as Chris made it—

_“Eyes up, Agent Kennedy!”_

The sudden voice chiming in his ear was the only warning Leon got as light suddenly flooded the large deck, the quiet of the night pierced by the thrum of spinning blades, the Osprey shooting up into view from below with its floodlights trained on them. Leon and Arias both turned to look, Leon more than unable to believe his luck. Especially when the Osprey turned, revealing the loading hatch open and the inner guts of the Osprey exposed, Piers Nivans laying on his stomach with what had to be the biggest rail gun Leon had ever fucking seen resting against his shoulder. There was a single moment to take a breath—

Then the railgun lit up with electricity and a single beam shot from the weapon, tearing through Arias’s shoulder, Leon hitting the ground hard as he was suddenly released. Even with the brunt of the impact jostling his broken limb, Leon didn’t hesitate in scanning the area for something, anything to bring this fucker down. Arias screamed raggedly in grief, bellowing the name Diego, before sprinting across the deck and leaping for the Osprey. Leon cursed and scrambled to his feet, running for the fallen Ducati, piecing together a really fucking stupid plan faster than he could second guess himself. He heard the Osprey’s blades begin to falter and a hollow, echoing laugh from the monster.

As Leon pulled the Ducati back onto its wheels and turned it to face the most reckless plan he’d ever had, Leon saw the Osprey in a wild spin with Arias clinging to the wing of its left side, his claws piercing the side of the cargo bay, and, in a brief glimpse, Piers pinned to the wall by the very bone that had nearly skewered Leon.

No turning back now. He shut his eyes, breathed deep, readied himself to die if he had to, and then pulled the handlebar to shoot forward, heading straight for the glass railing. He had only a second to get this right, a second to ensure the bike would be on the right track and that same second needed to get out of the way. He ran out of time halfway through the thought and went on instinct, getting the steering as straight as he could before launching himself off the bike at the same moment it broke through the glass. Leon hit the ground and rolled with it, tasting iron as his broken rib scraped and tore something. He heard the bike impact Arias, the monster screaming in rage, and Leon stopped perfectly, swinging up onto his feet, grinning, shouting, “Catch!”

The shout brought Arias’ eyes to him as the bike bore itself into the cavity in his shoulder. Leon let out a slow breath and let lose his final bullet, hitting the gas canister in the belly of the bike, the vehicle exploding in fire and heat. 

Arias dropped from the Osprey like a stone, falling through the air, and Leon felt a sense of victory as—

Those spears of bone shot through the air again, Arias catching himself mid-fall, one set of claws hitting the Osprey again, and the other piercing side of the Sherry-Netherland. Leon’s shoulders slumped, wondering what the hell it was going to take. He peered over the ledge, seeing the fucker was half burned and steaming with the heat of the explosion, the glowing point in his chest exposed, swaying between the two anchors he’d made himself. D.C. was struggling to keep the Osprey under control, if they didn’t do something fast—

There were heavy footsteps to his left, Chris suddenly at his side with his M4A1 featuring a brand spanking new M203 grenade launcher attachment. Leon took a step back, tired, expression washed clean of all emotion as Chris aimed down at Arias and murmured, “Bye bye, asshole,” before squeezing the trigger and sending the grenade right into Arias’s throbbing, red heart.

The fucker exploded in a matter of seconds, screaming as he erupted in flames, a fireball surging upwards towards Leon and Chris, filling the night with golden light. Leon just stood there, feeling empty now that it was finally over. Chris immediately turned away from the carnage he’d wrought, heading back to what Leon finally noticed as the upper level of Arias’s thirty-eighth floor, the walls made of glass, more light spilling through. Leon couldn’t see Rebecca, but he was sure that was what Chris was addressing. Leon just stood back, watching the Osprey correct itself, hoping Piers was okay but knowing there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He wondered if Chris had found the antidote.

As Leon tried to move again, he hissed, bringing his arm close to his side to keep it still so he wouldn’t fuck up his rib any further than he already been had. Come to think of it, his arm hurt too. Hell— everything hurt. He wasn’t sure how he’d survived being thrown like that because last he’d checked, the human spine couldn’t survive hitting a concrete corner like that. Just his luck, he guessed. Just his shitty, shitty luck. 

_“Glad you all made it in one piece. We’ll bring the Osprey around, see about picking you three up.””_

That was Piers’s voice— thank fuck. He was alive and able to talk and that was all that mattered. Leon sighed and then winced at the pain it brought, before readying himself to take stock of the aftermath and figure out what to do next. He looked over the opposite ledge and grimaced at the sight of a few skyscrapers showcasing giant holes they weren’t supposed to have. Director Hannigan was gonna have his head.

As Leon moved across the deck, he saw Chris bent over Rebecca, the woman laid out on the floor. Leon carefully made his way to them, trying not to cringe away from the bright light of the windowed room in the center of the deck, instead looking Rebecca over. As he approached, veins of black and blue crept away from sight and disappearing into the weird wedding dressage was wearing, whatever having been done to her ceasing to exist in front of Leon’s eyes. Chris was holding an O2 mask to her face, likely giving her a dose of something to fix her up. There was an air tank beside them, black with the A-GUA-G logo spray painted on the side in green. The antidote.

Leon breathed a little slower and wondered if it was going to be that easy as Rebecca gave Chris a slow thumbs-up. He stood off to the side and watched the Osprey lower back into view, Chris making eye contact with his people in the cockpit, giving them a nod of gratitude that felt far too private for Leon to witness.

Seeing it made Leon ache for what he’d lost in a matter of hours, back on a landing pad in Virginia, his team torn from his hands before he’d even had a chance to grasp them.

Chris looked to Leon, his brown eyes large and yet unreadable. “One thing left to do.”

The antidote and the civilians below. Leon nodded and kept his arm close to his side, breath coming a little more shallow as the adrenaline failed to keep the pain away forever. He stared into Chris and wished he could kiss him, but the longer he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed. All he could do was reply: “So let’s do it.”

Rebecca teetered back to her feet eventually and didn’t even acknowledge Leon, which was fine by him. With some stellar piloting by D.C., Chris and Leon got the antidote canisters loaded into the back of the Osprey as Rebecca sat on one of the benches with a blanket clutched tight around her shoulders, Nadia speaking softly with her and helping her drink from a bottle of water— Aquafina, thank fuck. 

Leon remained silent the whole time, knowing that opening his mouth would only mean he’d let out a soft gasp of pain that would prompt _someone_ to make him sit down. The last thing Leon wanted to do right now was be complacent. The high of the fight was fading fast, leaving him only with the trauma. Nearly plummeting off the ledge, the countless infected below, the memory of being in Arias’s powerful grip, the way Chris had been used as a shield— as always, it was all too much. Leon was, deceivingly, only human.

The sun was rising by the time they had the Osprey loaded and the antidote ready to disperse. Rebecca had said it would be simple enough, just allow the gas to float down on the infected below. Leon wasn’t sure about the efficiency of this method, considering they’d only be cleaning people of the disease but with more infected just behind them, and he wondered for the ones that had received life-threatening injuries from the teeth of their fellow men before turning. It was going to be messy no matter what. Leon wished it wouldn’t be, for once.

And despite the grim reality that was being faced on the streets below as the Osprey flew slowly overhead and the antidote fell into the streets like snow, Chris and Rebecca had their spirits soaring. Meanwhile, all Leon could do was look down on the streets below and recognize, distantly, places he’d once been. Alone and small, avoiding going home, shuffling through the streets with his head down and not a modicum of hope for his future.

Funny— in the end, nothing had really changed. When he’d been a kid, he’d never thought his life would turn out this way. Same fear, same pain, different monsters. He’d never thought he’d escape his parents only to fall into a hell just as never-ending, just as alone.

“And once again, we find ourselves back where we started,” Rebecca said softly from where she was sitting across from Chris, at the furthest end of the Osprey from Leon, down the same bench.

“What do you mean?” Chris asked, opposite of Leon in the cargo hold.

“We got the bad guys,” Rebecca explained softly. “Hope we made the world a little safer.”

Chris nodded like he understood. Leon, crushed beneath the weight of the futility in everything he’d fought for, couldn’t accept that. Was that really all there was? Endless fighting and hurting and struggling to survive? Was that all they were good for? Was that really all _Leon_ was good for?

He couldn’t do it— he couldn’t accept that or it would kill him. “Hey Chris.”

Chris turned to him, his eyes warm but still somehow unrecognizable. It was like there was a wall between them, a wall that had been there since China. It was like Chris had put it up to protect himself from what he couldn’t remember— protect himself from Leon. It was hopeless, wasn’t it?

But then— the kiss—

“Yeah?” Chris called out, telling Leon he had his attention.

Leon swallowed hard. He’d given up in that hall, given up on everything, but he couldn’t recognize himself as that hopeless man down below in this moment. He had one chance— one last shot, he knew it. If he could just find out what Chris remembered, if anything at all— 

Leon swallowed hard and asked, “How much longer can we keep going on like this?”

How much longer could Leon survive being alone? How much longer could Chris go without giving Leon anything, any truth, any progress? How much longer could they be apart before it was permanent? How much longer could they wait before there was no hope left?

Chris smiled, soft and guarded. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t make plans that far ahead.'

Leon’s stomach dropped and he felt cold all over. Then, Chris added, “But you’re gonna handle the planning for me, won’t you, Leon S. Kennedy?”

That—

Hope was a deadly thing, did Chris—

“After all,” Chris continued, his voice low and barely audible over the whir of the Osprey’s blades. “We made a promise not to split up, didn’t we? Long ago. About time I made good on that. About time I stuck with my partner— to the end.”

Leon couldn’t breathe. “What?”

Chris sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers threaded together. “You got any argument? We never really did fare all that well when we did split up, right?”

Leon shuddered, his eyes burning. _Hope was a deadly thing._ “You tell me,” he said, hating how his voice shook. “I’m not sure I remember.”

Chris met his eyes, gaze steady. “Don’t worry— I do.”

Leon sat slowly forward as well, his head sinking into his hands, fingers covering his mouth to hide the tremble to his lips, staring at Chris and trying to blink back his tears. Rebecca was still here, Piers and Nadia and D.C. all too close, he couldn’t let them see him like this. But Chris was watching him with that same warm gaze that had banished fear from Leon’s soul time and time again and he couldn’t cope, couldn’t control the overwhelming emotion bubbling forth from his chest. Was it happiness? Relief? Anxiety? He couldn’t tell, and half of him wanted it to just stop while the other half wanted it to never end. 

Then Chris sighed, stood, and crossed the Osprey cargo hold to sit beside him, a steady presence against Leon’s left, strong and constant and reliable. Leon hid his eyes in his palms now, wishing they were alone so he could fall apart without a thought. There was a pause, then Chris’s soft voice asking, “Can I touch you?”

Leon was going to fucking _sob._ He didn’t trust his own voice so he nodded, and a warm hand splayed across the back of his neck, threading gently through the soft hairs at the nape. Despite the turmoil in Leon’s heart, his chest bloomed with peace and joy, Chris’s touch, the glove removed, skin on skin, giving him palpitations and a headache and so much comfort that he still couldn’t breathe. They sat like that for a long moment and Leon only dared to draw in breath a few times, wondering if this was even real. Then, Chris shifted, and Leon knew he was going to have to pull away.

“I’ve got to dress Piers’s injury,” Chris told him, squeezing the back of his neck. “Once we’re back at the BSAA, I want you to come by my office, okay? It’s about time we talked.”

Then Chris’s touch was gone again and the man stood and walked to the front of the Osprey. Leon shuddered out a breath and sat up and blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from brimming over. Rebecca was watching him, but blessedly remained silent. Leon, for all his talk of no hope, was finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was blinding. 

He really, really hoped there would be no one in Chris’s office once they got back to Ontario. More than anything, Leon just wanted to be alone and together with Chris.

And even more than that, Leon wanted to kiss the living daylight out of Chris before the chance was stolen inevitably stolen from him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uwu fuck the canon ending scene in the osprey uwu


End file.
